Something wicked this way comes
by dicaprio
Summary: Syed and Christian are back in the Square. They are still together, but love and passion have given way to something a little more mundane ... [the exit story Syed should have had]
1. Chapter 1

"Dad," she screams despairingly, the sound of her own voice waking her. Tam, lying beside her, stirs but does not wake.

###

**Chapter 1**

_One evening_

"Seriously, he's lucky he's so beautiful and has such a hot body," Christian sighs, as he reads Syed's latest text.

"What does he want now?" Roxy groans.

"He wants to know where I am, again."

"Turn off your phone," she advises.

"We're supposed to be going to the Masoods for dinner," Christian complains. "To think I used to dream of being accepted into that family. But it soon got boring, believe me. I never realised how dry they were. Sometimes I feel like shouting out the word 'penis' in the middle of dinner, just to see how they'll react," he giggles.

You know, they think they can just accept me into the family now and I'll forget all they've done to me in the past; no apologies, nothing," he adds, with a revealing note of bitterness. "Not that they've really accepted me; I'll never get the same kind of respect they give Afia. She didn't have to save Masood's life to get approval; all she had to do was be female."

"Didn't you tell me that Zainab told you she was sorry?" Roxy remembers.

"Why are we even talking about them?" Christian demands, his voice getting progressively louder.

"Exactly. They're not worth stressing about," she agrees, "let's get another drink."

"More drinks, yes, definitely. Shots, let's do some shots. Tracey," he calls loudly across the bar.

Ronny makes her way over. "I think you've had enough for one night," she advises. "Rox, take him home."

"Kill joy," Christian calls over his shoulder as he and Roxy stagger out the door.

###

"Where's Christian?" Zainab demands, as soon as Syed walks into the kitchen.

"He had to go to see a client," her son weakly excuses.

"At this time of night?" she responds sceptically. She'd always assumed Syed and Christian had a very strong, unshakeable relationship; but now she knows better.

"Your father has brought a friend from Mo*que home for dinner; go and meet him."

"Syed, come and meet Nazir." Masood calls him over as soon as he enters the sitting room. "This is my eldest son, Syed," he introduces.

"Hi," Syed says with a friendly smile.

"Nice to meet you," the handsome stranger responds, shaking his hand.

"Nazir's new in town; he's only recently arrived from Pak*stan," Masood explains.

"Really, which part?" Syed asks, immediately interested.

"Kar*chi."

"I travelled there earlier this year; it's a fascinating place. I visited the Tooba Mosque and the Mohatta Palace Museum, the Mazar-e-Quaid; and the food markets were amazing. We flew to Mohenjo-Daro to walk through the archaeological site ..." he hesitates, sensing he's getting carried away.

Nazim's smile is polite, but also ever so slightly demeaning.

"I'm sorry ...," Syed automatically begins to apologise.

"I'm pleased you had an enjoyable visit," he interrupts. "Kar*chi is my home and I love it, but the way of life here suits me very well for now; there is so much to do and see. And you have so much more freedom here, to go where you will, do as you please." As he says this, his eyes look directly into Syed's for just a second or two longer than politeness would have required.

"London is a great city," Masood agrees with what he thinks is being said. "I always say that we don't take the time to explore properly. The tourists could probably give us pointers."

"Syed, you must be my guide to the city; I'm sure you've been to some places the average local would know nothing about." A slightly mocking look accompanies this comment.

"That's a great idea. Syed knows the area very well, he's been around ..."

"So I've been told," Nazim remarks, his head turned slightly towards Syed and his voice low enough for only Syed to pick up his true meaning.

"... most of London during his time as a student and later working as an Estate Agent, before he joined the family business." Masood does his best to talk up his son, sensing his discomfort without understanding the reason for it.

"Mas," Zainab sharply summons from the kitchen.

"Yes, my little turtle dove," her husband sweetly responds.

"Would you mind helping me with something?" she asks, modifying her tone and request as she remembers they have a guest.

"I can go," Syed attempts.

"Nonsense, you must keep our guest company." Masood walks away, leaving an awkward silence.

"Masood told me all about his wonderful family; he is very proud of you all," Nazir says, as it becomes clear that Syed is not going to speak.

"Why are you here?" he hisses. "Have you been sent by someone at Mosque?"

Your boyfriend, he won't be joining us?"

"I asked you a question."

"You and Christian have been together for a few years, I believe. Your marriage broke up because you couldn't resist his ... charms."

"My life is none of your business; my father should have realised that."

"Your father wouldn't have wanted me to know something so shameful about his family."

Syed can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. "Who have you been talking to?" he demands.

"I know all your dirty little secrets, Syed Masood," Nazir lets him know, his tone softly threatening.

The intense look in his eyes, the way they darken almost to black as they trap and hold his gaze has Syed hastily backing away. "If you'll excuse me …" he turns and rushes off to the safety of the kitchen.

"What just happened?" he wonders, as he walks around the table automatically picking up and moving plates around and stirring sauces ... "What sort of game is he playing?"

"Syed, leave those alone," Zainab barks from right behind him, almost giving him a heart attack. "Everything on that table is ready to go."

"Um ... sorry mum ..."

"What are you doing out here, anyway? You've left our guest with only Tam and Afia to talk to; what off any interest will they be able to say to him?" she dismisses.

"I …"

"Fine, fine. Stir this," she commands, handing him a ladle and pointing to the pot bubbling on the cooker. "I've got to go and change for dinner."

#

Dinner is a lively affair, with Zainab being the perfect hostess, Masood dropping amusing comments every now and then, and their guest being just about as charming as someone can be on a first visit. Without really knowing how she can benefit from it, not having a daughter nearby, Zainab is nevertheless impressed to find out that Nazir is a doctor and temporarily covering for Dr Fonseca, the local GP, who had to leave unexpectedly when it was discovered that he had been selling prescriptions.

Syed says very little throughout the meal; he has the seemingly absurd idea that he won't feel safe until this man has left their house.

"Which M*sque do you attend?" Nazir asks him directly at one point.

"He goes to the Limehouse M*sque," Zainab answers for him. "Because of, well ..., he can't attend M*sque with us."

"That must be difficult," Nazir once more addresses Syed.

"Unfortunately, not everyone is as open minded as you," Masood responds, somewhat hypocritically.

At this point, Syed's phone rings.

"I need to take this." Quickly getting up from the table, he leaves the room.

"If it's Christian, tell him I'm not happy; he'll know what I mean," Zainab calls after him.

"I've never had PPI," Syed says quietly, once he has the sitting room door closed behind him. He cuts off the caller before they can pester him any further, and slips out the back door before anyone decides to come looking for him.

#

He rushes down the street, thoughts twirling around in his head. "What was that about? Why did he single me out in such a way? It doesn't matter, none of it matters because I won't be seeing him again. Dad never brings people home from M*sque. Even before I came out, he never ... Is it because I'm gay? Am I being targeted ...?" Syed is so preoccupied, he fails to see the black cab until it screeches to a halt inches from where he is walking.

"Watch where you're going, you muppet," the driver shouts.

"Sorry" he apologises with a friendly waive; he gets none in return.

Arriving back at the flat, he is relieved to find it empty.

"Forget all about Nazir, he hasn't got the power to hurt you," he reassures himself. He turns on the TV and sits on the sofa to watch a TV programme which is not going to hold his attention. "Of course he can't hurt me; why would I even consider ...? After all this time, the M*sque will have forgotten me. As long as I don't show my face ..."

His phone beeps with a message from his mum, "Be at restaurant at noon tomorrow. Have told Nazir you'll show him around." As Syed stares at the message, he has a feeling of foreboding. "This is bad," he whispers, without really knowing why he is so sure of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"I know what you're going to say, but you should have given me more notice," Christian turns defends into attack, as he drops onto the bed beside Syed at 3am, abruptly waking him up and breathing alcohol fumes all over him.

"It's fine," Syed mumbles, turning away from him.

"You wanna?" he huskily whispers about 5 minutes later, his mouth pressing against Syed's ear. His hands begin to travel and his naked body presses insistently against him; and even in his drunken state, Syed has to work hard to get away. He ends up sleeping on the sofa.

#

"I suppose you're angry with me?" he asks defensively the next morning.

"No," Syed says quietly. He hands him a cup of coffee and carries on eating his breakfast.

"But you're going to be in a mood all day; I told Rox you would be," he challenges.

"It's fine, really," Syed responds without rising to the bait. He finishes eating, and goes to wash his dishes in the sink.

"Maybe we could go for lunch," Christian hazards.

"Hmm," Syed murmurs distractedly, his mind whirring with anxious thoughts.

"Lunch, yes or no?" Christian impatiently repeats a question he may have asked several times.

"I'm having lunch with Mum," he offers vaguely.

"You had dinner with her last night; is it really necessary to see her again so soon?"

The door closing behind Syed ends the discussion.

###

Syed isn't quite sure why he lied about lunch, or why he didn't even mention in passing about Nazir; there was nothing to hide. He puts the matter out of his mind, and concentrates on setting up the stall.

###

_Lunchtime_

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me; I hope I'm not taking you away from other commitments." Nazir greets.

"Tam's covering for me, but I don't have very long." Syed makes his position clear.

"Shall we eat first?"

"I'm only meant to be showing you around," he protests, but Nazir is already on his way into the Argee Bhajee.

"Hi again," Afia greets. She shows them to a table next to one of the windows overlooking the Square. "If Syed starts to bore you, I'll take a break and come and join you," she suggests, giving her brother-in-law a playful nudge in the shoulder before leaving the menus and walking away.

"You get on well?"

"Yes," Syed answers stiffly.

"Afia has been married to your brother for very long?"

"They were married in 2011."

"Does her family live around here?"

"No."

Nazim waits for him to continue.

"Afia's mum died when she was a child and her father died in a fire in 2012."

"Poor man."

"Yes," Syed politely agrees.

"Afia's lucky to have you."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about my family. You obviously know too much as it is."

"So, what shall we talk about?" Nazim asks lightly.

"Whatever you like," Syed coolly responds.

"Maybe we could talk about your first sexual experience in Leeds?"

"I don't have to listen to this," he hisses, pushing his chair back with the intention of getting up and walking out.

Nazim puts a hand on his arm. "I'm only teasing you," he lightly assures. "Please, we've had an unfortunate start, let me make amends.

His disarming smile, the reasonableness of his request has Syed reluctantly sitting back down.

"Why have you singled me out?" he demands.

"I haven't."

"So, why are we here?"

"We're of a similar age, we are both of Pak*stani origin and I would like to get to know you better; that's it, I promise you."

"Would you like to order?" the waiter appears at their table.

"What do you recommend?" Nazir directs his question to Syed.

"The chicken Karahi is good."

"We'll have two. And to drink?"

"I'll have a glass of still water, thanks."

"I'll have an orange juice." Nazim offers a friendly smile as he hands the menus back to the waiter.

"I take it you don't want to talk about Leeds?"

"No."

"I guess I'll just have to use my imagination."

Syed purses his lips in annoyance."

"Were you ever attracted to women?"

"No comment."

"You went to university, and yet you are happy working on a stall?"

"No comment."

"You don't like talking about yourself?"

"Not especially, no."

"That's unfortunate, because I find you very interesting," Nazim confesses, his tone intimate, his eyes once more intense, pinning him back, looking into his soul.

After a charged moment, Syed abruptly pushes back his chair once more and quickly gets up. "I need to make a call," he explains, his voice cracking slightly over the words.

He goes outside, and Nazim watches through the window as he leans against the building, his head back, taking a few deep breaths and slowly releasing, running his hand through his hair, his manner agitated. Someone passing by says hello, but he does not notice. Had he during this time turned his head to see the look on Nazim's face, he might well have run away.

The food arrives just in time for Syed's return to the table. Nazim nods his thanks as the plates are placed in front on them.

They eat without speaking for a short while.

"Have you got family over here?" he abruptly demands.

"No, unfortunately not."

"Who did you stay with when you first came to London?"

"I stayed with a friend of my father's; but only for a couple of months, until I could afford my own place. I am currently renting an apartment in an area called Millharbour."

"Canary Wharf?"

He nods.

"It's a nice area. Doctors really are well paid," Syed surmises.

"There are other ways of making money."

"Really?" he asks, looking directly at Nazir for the first time since his return.

"There are certain products you can buy here, under value at UK customs and sell on the black market back home at a 100% mark-up. All you need is enough money to pay for the merchandise and you're set."

"What sort of products?"

"Would you like to get involved?" Nazir tempts.

"Is it totally legal?"

"What do you think?"

"Okay, how illegal is it?"

"Let's just say that the UK part of the transaction is simple to negotiate, but it starts to get a bit more complicated once you arrive at customs in Pak*stan."

"Complicated?"

"If you know the right people, it's not a problem."

"And you know the right people?"

"Of course," Nazir smiles. "I always get my way," he adds softly, his eyes once more hypnotically holding Syed's gaze.

"I was supposed to be showing you around?" he huskily reminds them both. "Afia," he calls a little too loudly, "can we have the bill?"

"I've got it," Nazir insists, handing her his credit card.

###

"He was all polite, didn't have a go," Christian tells Roxy over lunch in the Caf.

"Wow, he's that angry," she responds with a grin. "You're in the dog house, good and proper. You won't be getting any tonight, or any night for the rest of the year," she guesses.

"Don't worry about that; it's usually how I get round him. No matter how angry he is, he just can't resist little Christian," he confidently responds.

"Sometimes I think that's all that's keeping you two together," she muses.

"Na-ah, we love each other; if someone were to write about us, it would be a beautiful love story, up there with Romeo and Juliet."

"They died."

"Well some other couple then."

"It might have been like that a year or so ago, but you're hardly besotted now," Roxy dismisses.

"Of course we are," he insists.

"When was the last time you had a romantic meal together?"

"Last week, Thursday, we got take-out."

"A romantic meal cannot include children," she laughingly reminds him.

"Yea, well Yasmin's with us a lot of the time now, so finding alone time is difficult."

"You and I spend lots of time alone together …"

"This conversation is starting to bore me," Christian laughs to disguise his irritation. "What have you been up to? Who've you shagged this week?"

"What makes you think I've shagged anyone," she responds miffed.

"So you haven't?"

"Well, apart from Max and AJ, I haven't actually," she sets him straight.

###

"To be honest, there isn't a lot to see around here," Syed admits, as they stand outside the restaurant looking around them.

"There's the pub, the club, the little park and the little shop; and I'm already familiar with those," Nazir says dismissively, as he flags down a cab. "Let's go somewhere a little more interesting," he beckons, getting in and waiting for Syed to follow.

He stands without moving until Nazim lowers the window. "Maybe you'd prefer to return to the stall?" he suggests, his eyes challenging. "Those t-shirts won't sell themselves," he adds mockingly.

"I can't be away for long," Syed reminds him, his tone now a little less convincing.

"It's up to you whether you come or not," Nazim shrugs. "Maybe we'll run into each other again sometime," he adds as he gestures for the driver to move.

"Okay, another hour won't hurt," Syed convinces himself, quickly opening the car door and getting in.

"Morton's Private members club, Berkeley Square," Nazir instructs the driver.

"It sounds exclusive," Syed remarks.

Ignoring him completely, Nazir takes out his phone and spends the whole journey focused completely on it.

Syed looks out the window and thinks about why he is never able to stay on the right path for very long.

After about 40 minutes they arrive in an exclusive area of London Syed has only ever heard about.

Nazim discretely shows the doorman an electronic code on his phone and they are immediately given permission to enter. "You're a member?"

"I know the owner," Nazir casually confirms.

"Why are we here?"

"Drink?"

"Orange Juice, thanks," Syed automatically replies, looking around, impressed despite himself.

"You have a daughter?" he opens the conversation once they've been seated in a secluded booth.

"Yes, Yasmin," Syed replies warily.

"She lives with her mother, but you have access when she's in the mood?"

"It's not quite like that; Christian and I spend lots of time with Yas, everyone's happy with the way things are."

"Amira's father, I've heard of him, Qadim Shah, he's a successful businessman."

"Yes, he has properties, and other business interests."

"I'm guessing he's not impressed with the gay son-in-law working on a market stall?"

"I haven't spoken to him recently, and I don't particularly care what he thinks of me," Syed responds, his defensive tone and obvious embarrassment giving lie to his words.

"And you've been _persuaded_ to leave your Mo*que."

"I'm perfectly happy with the Mo*que I go to now."

"As long as they never find out who you really are."

"Is there a reason you've brought me here today? Because I'm getting pretty tired of your insinuations," Syed storms. "You're a friend of my father's, and I'm supposed to be showing you around as a favour to him, but you and I have no reason to cross paths, and there is definitely no reason why you should be sticking your nose into my business."

"Can you discuss your situation with Christian? Can you talk to him about what it's like being British-Pak*stani, Musl*m and gay?"

Syed does not respond.

"When you decided to travel to Kar*chi with Amira recently, did you never for a moment consider that it might be a risky decision?"

"How do you mean?"

"If she were in a mood for revenge, she might have revealed your secret. Bring gay in Pak*stan is illegal. There are stories of mutilation, hangings, gang rape ..." As he speaks, Nazir is once more looking straight into his eyes, and Syed has the feeling he had the previous day of not being safe.

"I need to get back," he says shakily. He makes a move to get up, but Nazir stops him by firmly gripping his shoulder.

"You don't have to be afraid; I haven't come here to hurt you." As he says this, he forces Syed back onto his seat.

"I don't need any more ... friends," Syed weakly tries to insist; it comes out as more of a plea.

"It can't be because you already have so many, because you don't; in fact, you're all alone. There's no one you can speak to about your fairly unique situation."

"I can speak to Tam."

"He's married now, and busy with his new wife and business. Soon they will have children, maybe a son, and finally your bother will have his mother's love and approval. You will be usurped, you will no longer be the favourite, the one to be looked up to. Your mother admires success, and since you can offer her no daughter-in-law, no more grandchildren, no more than a market stall ... She expected so much of you, but you've disappointed her in everything."

"I can't help the way things have turned out, I've tried ..."

"How easily you crumble. You're supposed to be proud to stand up for what you are, for who you're with, for the life you've chosen; yet you make excuses for all that you are."

"I am proud."

"Are you proud of Christian? As I was driving back from a call at around 3am this morning, I saw him falling out of the Queen Vic with that blond_ Rundi_. He was so drunk he could barely stand."

Syed can't help the blush rising in his cheeks. "What do you want me to say?"

"I expect you to say that it's none of my business, that you and Christian can live your lives however you please, that you're not ashamed of what you are, of what he is, that you would rather live your life honestly and go to a different Mosq*ue than hide what you are and be miserable. I expect you to remind me that working on a market stall is a job, that there is no shame in earning a decent living, no matter the work. But you can't say any of those things because deep down inside you, you don't feel them. You want desperately to fit in; more than that, you have a desperate need to be successful, admired, especially by your mother and father. And yet, every move you make takes you further in the opposite direction. You and your wild boyfriend are an embarrassment to your parents."

"My parents don't have a problem with Christian."

"Of course they do. How often does your mother have that look on her face like she's chewing on a wasp when she talks about him? How often do you have to arrange to come to her instead, when she phones to say she's on her way over; because Christian is lying on the couch hungover and the flat stinks of beer, and you can't bear to have her see him like that?"

"If you knew him," Syed says, his voice lacking any strength of conviction.

"I don't need to; all I have to do is spend 15-20 minutes sitting in the Vic discretely watching him and _Rox_," he says the last with a sneering imitation of Christian. "He has no self-control of any kind."

"He's good with Yasmin," Syed offers weakly.

"Of course he is, she's a child; he'll be her best friend when she grows up; they'll go to clubs together. But he won't discipline her, and he won't let you do so either. She'll be out of control be the time she hits her mid-teens.

How important is your religion to you?" he asks when Syed doesn't respond. "Do you still believe God hears your prayers now that you're living your life this sinful way?"

"I am a good Muslim, God loves me and accepts me the way I am," Syed insists.

"You truly believe that?"

"I believe it because it's true."

"Finally, a bit of conviction."

"Why have you singled me out this way? My father introduced you as a friend …"

"You're the runt of the litter, the weakest link. You're pretty, pretty empty. We both know your family would be better off without you."

"Enough, that's enough," Syed cries harshly. He gets up and walks away. Nazir doesn't stop him. His eyes, following him as he walks towards the door, glitter with satisfaction.

As Syed sits in the back of a cab on his way back to the Square, he feels irrationally upset by the encounter; he has to bite his lip to stop himself crying."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Meanwhile, back in the Square_

"Where's Sy?"

"Christian, hi; he's …" Tamwar begins.

"Is he still with Zainab?"

"Mum?"

"Yea, he said he was having lunch with her, but it's almost 3."

"Oh, well, um, I don't think they're …," Tamwar babbles nervously. "He said he was having lunch with Mum?"

"Yea," Christian replies, the beginning of a suspicion forming.

"Well, of course he would ... say that, because that's what they did; they did have lunch together. They didn't say where they were going, and Syed has his phone turned off; and mum, mum also has her's turned off, so I can't get hold of either of them," he laughs nervously. "It really is very inconvenient because I really need to get back to the restaurant," he concludes, his voice now rising in an exaggerated sense of annoyance.

"I'll pop around to the house, see if they're there," Christian assures, whilst privately thinking yet again that Tamwar is the oddest of guys sometimes, the complete opposite of Syed in every way. "I'll send him here as soon as I find him," he promises, quickly ducking away before Tamwar decides to blame him for anything.

Tamwar quickly texts Syed, "Where are you? Christian looking for you. Thinks you're with mum?"

###

"Hi Zainab, I need to speak to Sy."

"Christian, hi," she greets, stepping back for him to enter.

"Sy," he calls as he enters the sitting room, "have you got Sharon's number? And also, Tam needs to get back to the restaurant … Where is he?"

"He's not here; I was just about to tell you."

"But if you're back …"

"Where were you the last night?"

"I had to babysit for Rox," Christian quickly fabricates.

"Funny that, because Syed said you had a client."

"Well, I had a client first, and then …" he mumbles sheepishly.

"Yea, yea, forget it. Anyway, I need to talk to you about the curtains we were going to buy. You said you would come with me."

"Why don't you ask Afia?"

"Afia?" she asks puzzled.

"Or Tam, or Syed? You think I'm only good for choosing curtains; the gays know all about picking pretty patterns and colours?"

Zainab looks at him, with no understanding of what he's getting at. "You said you knew a guy," she hesitantly reminds him; and he realises that he is being unfair.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he sighs. "Show me the samples you got from Powell's." And they forget about Syed and Afia for a little while as they spread everything out on the table and work out what would be the best match, measure up, and calculate how much it would cost to replace the curtains in every room.

"What was that about earlier?" she murmurs, as they sit with a cup of tea and share a well-earned packet of biscuits.

"I'm sorry ..."

"Is something bothering you?" Is that why you didn't come to dinner?"

Christian bites his bottom lip, but says nothing.

"Just recently, you've been staying away. Are you and my son having problems?"

"I think so," he admits.

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

"I think I'm losing him." The words appear to surprise him more than they do Zainab.

"Would you like me to have a word?" she asks, instinctively leaning over to give his hand a comforting squeeze.

He looks up at the concern in her voice and catches a correspondingly anxious look in her eyes. "You would do that for me?" he asks in amazement.

"Of course, why not?"

Christian smiles, feeling absurdly happy. "I'm really glad I came here today," he says huskily.

"I am very good company, it has often been said," Zainab acknowledges.

#

When Masood returns a couple of hours later, they are in the middle of an animated conversation about Max and Jack and the apparent reason the brothers look nothing alike.

"Mas, you'll never guess what Christian told me," Zainab says urgently.

"You know I don't approve of gossip," he mock-sternly responds.

"Apparently, Jack has the same red hair as Max, but he's been dying it brown for years, and he wears make-up to cover his freckles."

"Are you sure?" Masood asks doubtfully.

"It's true, Rox would know - collars and cuffs and all that," Christian points out, without thinking.

"What?" Zainab asks, confused. "Because they both wear similar shirts sometimes? That's your proof?"

Masood smiles as he listens to Christian's tall tale about how you can tell if someone is a natural red head by the brand, style and colour of shirt they choose to wear. He removes his jacket, gets a drink and goes to join them.

###

_That evening_

"Surprise!" Christian cries, as Syed walks in the door of the flat.

"What's this?" he asks, trying to fain enthusiasm.

"What does it look like?"

"You've cooked," he responds, looking towards the saucepans bubbling away on the cooker.

"Not just that, but we've got the whole flat to ourselves; Zainab's got Yas. Now, get your coat off, have a relaxing shower, and come to me smelling all nice. We're going to have a romantic meal; it's been ages since we've spent some proper quality time together."

"Okay, I won't be long," Syed promises as he heads for the bathroom.

The meal (his favourite), the candles, the romantic music, snuggling up on the sofa to watch a romantic DVD (one of his favourites) are all meant to remind him that Christian Clarke knows how to please his man.

As they eat, he does most of the talking, and Syed is content to listen; his mind is still on the unsettling conversation he had with Nazim earlier.

"You're very quiet tonight," Christian observes, eventually.

"I'm a bit tired," he excuses.

"Where did you go today after you had lunch with Zainab?"

"Nowhere special."

"Is everything okay? You're not still mad at me for going awol last night?"

"No, I was just thinking …"

"I just didn't feel like spending the evening making polite conversation, or listening to your mother having a go at Tam or Masood one more time," Christian expands on his familiar gripe. "There's never a dull moment with your family, there really isn't; but sometimes after a hard day working, I just need to let my hair down, preferably somewhere where I can get some alcohol." At this point, he is reminded of the lovely alcohol-free afternoon he has just spent with his mother-in-law.

"Christian, dad brought this guy for home for dinner …"

"I know, you're right, I'm being unfair. I was round yours this afternoon and we had a lovely chat; and Masood joined in, when he got home after his rounds. Did you know that a few years ago Phil thought about getting a hair transplant, but Shirley talked him out of it?"

"Christian ..."

"I guess that what I'm trying to say is that sometimes it's easier to do something that takes no effort; and spending time with Rox is, well, very easy to do. She called me, said she needed a shoulder to cry on; she's broken up with Sean, again. Actually, in a way, he's broken up with her; she caught him with Kim." Christian fills Syed in on the latest instalment of Roxy's eventful love life. Syed tunes him out, the way he usually does when Christian starts on about Roxy. Sometimes, Syed wishes he could remove Roxy from their lives altogether.

###

"We had a lovely evening," Christian tells Roxy the next day; and we talked everything through. We're totally okay now.

"Did he let you shag him at the end of the night?"

"Roxy Ann Mitchell, you are just too nosy," Christian laughs.

"So he didn't."

"Of course he did, my man can never refuse me."

Sitting at the next table, Nazir smiles a brittle smile.

_The Argee Bhajee_

"What's going on, Syed; why didn't you tell Christian you were giving Nazir a tour around the Square?" Tamwar asks suspiciously.

"He was so busy talking about Roxy, I didn't get the chance," he replies evasively.

"Things are okay, aren't they, now that we're all one big happy family?"

"Yea, of course."

"Where did you bring Nazir? I can't believe you found anywhere interesting to show him around here."

"What's with all the questions?" Syed snaps.

"Well, there were only three ... questions, actually," Tamwar points out. "Is everything okay?"

"That's four," he shouts in a fit of temper. Throwing the napkins down on the table, he walks out, leaving Tamwar staring after him in surprise.

###

_A couple of days later_

"How are things with you and Christian?" Zainab asks seemingly out-of-the-blue, as she hands Syed the books for the Restaurant so that he can update them.

"We're fine, of course," he murmurs absently. "Did Tam give you the receipts for last night?"

"You should go away for a long weekend, we'll have Yasmin."

"Mum, are you listening to me? The receipts?"

"I'll bet it was nice spending time with someone from back home. Nazir was very impressed with you; he told Mas he thought you were wasted on the stall. He has contacts; he offered to introduce you to some very important people."

"Why do you keep trying to change me?" Syed snaps irritably.

"Okay, okay, I won't meddle," his mother lies.

###

_That evening_

"You want to go out?" Christian asks, despite knowing the answer.

"I'm not really in the mood," Syed says, without looking up from the book he is reading.

"You never come out anymore."

"You've got Roxy."

"You can't be bothered making an effort, is that it?"

Syed doesn't respond.

"Sy, look at me when I'm talking to you," Christian explodes, grabbing the book from him. "You've completely withdrawn into yourself for months now; you never talk to me, you never listen when I tell you stuff."

Syed gets up and goes to boil the kettle.

"Why won't you talk to me; tell me what you're thinking; it's the most annoying thing about you, I swear."

"There's nothing to say," Syed murmurs, his eyes fixed on the kettle.

"Of course there is. For a start, you can tell me why you're so quiet."

"I've always been like this."

"No, you haven't. You used to try, you used to look pleased to see me when I walked in the door; you used to want to spend time with me. I thought we were okay; after last night, I thought …?"

"I thought you were going out?"

"Please, Sy, talk to me."

"I don't want to go out, I didn't want to have a surrogate baby with Roxy, I never wanted to adopt a baby, I didn't want to get married, I don't want you coming home blind drunk all the time. Would you like some tea?"

Syed calmly puts a couple of t-bags in a couple of mugs and starts to pour the hot water over them.

Christian bangs the door on his way out.

###

_The Vic, about five minutes later_

"He is impossible, really impossible," he explodes.

"I assume we're talking about lover boy?" Roxy says mock wearily.

"Who else? I swear, I've no idea what he wants; every time I think I've got him sussed …"

"You mean every time you think you've got him around to your way of thinking," Roxy interrupts. "You should know by now that pushing Syed into doing something doesn't work. He'll agree with you now, and then go behind your back tomorrow and do the opposite. Then you'll feel betrayed."

"I don't push him into stuff; it's just that he usually needs a nudge in the right direction. I know what's best for him, what's best for us."

"Just because you understood better than he did that he needed to admit he was gay and end his marriage, doesn't mean you can ignore what he says he wants or doesn't want when it comes to other big decisions in your lives. Even though you want it all so much, Syed doesn't seem to me like someone who is ready for anything more than what you've got at the moment."

"You love slagging him off, don't you?" Christian pouts.

"Not as much as you, though," she teases.

"If I can't moan to my best mate …"

"And if you can't bear to hear the truth …"

"Let's go clubbing; I really fancy a mad night," Christian interrupts, and the subject is closed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_The next morning_

"Morning babe," Christian calls out in a singsong voice, as he enters the flat.

"Morning," Syed returns, his voice flat.

"Any tea in the pot; I'm parched?" he asks, as he hangs up his jacket on the back of the door and goes to get some.

"Amira is dropping off Yasmin in an hour; can you take her until lunch time? I'll look after her in the afternoon?"

"Sure, no problem," he says evenly.

"Right, see you later." Syed gets up to go.

"Wait, you're leaving, just like that? No questions? No accusations?" Christian asks incredulously.

"What do you want me to say?"

"You keep asking me, but maybe it's time you came up with the answer to that question yourself. I'm beginning to think you don't care what I do, whether I'm here or not. Are you trying to tell me something?"

"I don't have time for this; I've got to set up the stall."

"No, Syed, this is more important. I've stayed out all night, and you don't want to know why, where I've been?"

"You went clubbing with Roxy, got drunk, crashed at her place, it' doesn't take a genius ...," Syed says wearily.

"But I've never stayed out all night before, and yet you didn't think that maybe something might have happened to me, or that maybe I'd hooked up with a guy; nothing. You really don't care."

"Why don't you and Roxy discuss what I'm supposed to do, how I'm supposed to feel, and let me know," Syed responds waspishly.

"And before Christian has thought of a come-back, he's gone."

#

_That afternoon_

"What do you want?" Syed asks in exasperation, when Zainab opens the door.

"Want?" she asks innocently.

"You sent me a text saying you needed me to pop round, that it was important," he reminds her as he walks into the sitting room, only to stop in his tracks.

"Hi," Nazir greets, his expression bland.

"Nazir, hi, I didn't expect to be seeing you again so soon," he responds, only a slight tremor in his voice.

"I met Mrs Masood in the street, we got talking, and she very generously invited me for lunch."

"Right, well, I'm afraid I can't chat, I've just popped over to help with something."

"You might as well join us, now you're here," Zainab says cheerily, coming up behind him as he starts to back out of the room, blocking his escape.

"Sit, chat to Nazir while I finish cooking," she orders, as she walks towards the kitchen.

Syed reluctantly sits down on the couch. "Why are you here?" he hisses, as soon as his mother is out of earshot.

"I'm sensing some hostility," Nazir responds, his voice filled with amusement. "It's almost as if you'd rather I hadn't come."

"Nazir," he barks.

"Like I said ..."

"Why did you tell my dad you could help me?"

"Is that so bad? We all need to stick together; living here in someone else's country."

"This is my country; I've grown up here."

"But your parents are both from Pakistan; you were born there."

"This is my home, not Pakistan."

"You aren't at all interested in the politics of our country? You never think about getting involved?"

"No."

"How do you feel about the way things are for us now?"

"Us?"

"Musl*ms."

"I live my life, and I allow others to do the same. The only prejudice I've ever experienced to a degree that it bothered me, has been over being gay; and the worst of that was from my own Musl*m community. I have no views either way on the subject of being Musl*m and living in the West, or on the problems facing the country where I was born."

"How very convenient."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if everyone watched their own backs, didn't bother about their own people, what kind of world would we live in? Is it not written, 'Let not the believers take for friends or helpers unbelievers rather than believers: if any do that, in nothing will there be help from All*h, except by way of precaution.' I thought you were a religious man?"

"If there was something I could do that didn't involve violence ... I might consider; it would depend on the circumstances. I'd be prepared to do something like, maybe, write a letter to ... someone, maybe?"

"Saying what?" Yusuf asks, amused.

"Anyway, I don't believe we should shut ourselves off from other religious groups; or any group of people, for that matter. We fear what we don't understand; I'm sure someone wrote that, once. The people around here, for example, they come in all shapes and sizes, they fall out over little things, some struggle to make ends meet, one or two commit crimes; but I know without a shadow of a doubt that All*ah would never wish me to do the slightest harm to even the most sinful of them, no matter what someone interprets from a religious text. I may be religious, but I also have a moral compass that is my guide above all else."

"It is easy it is to hold such sacharine views from the relative comfort and safety of your privileged western life.

"Maybe you shouldn't have moved here, if our views are so distasteful to you."

"When you were in Karach*, didn't you have a sense of belonging, a calling ..."

"I felt like a tourist; a temporary visitor. It found it to be a beautiful place, and the people were very nice, but that is as far as my thinking went. I have a life here I'm very happy with."

"I think we figured out during our last conversation that that isn't strictly true, that you are in fact a man in need of a sense of purpose."

"And I thought we'd decided during our last conversation _that_ my life was none of your business, and _that_ you were going to leave me alone," Syed snaps, getting up and walking out of the room.

"No we definitely didn't come to that understanding," Nazir murmurs.

"Syed, you'll set the table." Zainab's voice comes from the hallway, and he is almost immediately on his way back in with cutlery, plates and glasses.

"Where are Tam and Afia?" he asks once they are seated.

"Working, of course, where do you think they would be at this time of the day?"

Syed gets a questioning look from his mother as, for the first time ever, he blushes at being spoken to with such abruptness.

"What's wrong with you? Why are you all flushed in the face?" she questions, drawing attention to his awkwardness. "Are you ill?" She reaches over a hand to touch his forehead.

He impatiently swats it away. "I'm fine, it's nothing," he says through gritted teeth. "I'll get some water."

He hides out in the kitchen as long as he can, wondering if he should duck out the back door.

"Syed, where did you go for the water, to the well?" Zainab calls out.

He reluctantly fills the jug and walks back in, without making eye contact with anyone.

"Nazir was just telling me about his latest business venture," she updates.

"I thought he was a doctor," he cannot resist reminding her.

"Well, yes, of course he is," his mother impatiently agrees, "but it doesn't mean he cannot take advantage of an opportunity when it presents itself."

"Back home, the only people who are not looking to buy are people looking to sell; everyone's a businessman," Nazir explains, "and if it becomes known that you're living in London, you get bombarded with offers."

"Yes, of course," Zainab agrees, as if this were not news to her.

"I've told my contacts all about this area. They were frankly amazed to discover that such an underdeveloped place could still exist in such close proximity to The City of London's affluent financial district, and are eager to snap it up. By the time they are finished with Albert Square, you won't recognise the place."

"Really?" Syed, asks, interested despite himself.

"These business men need someone who knows the area to provide advice and negotiate on their behalf, and I've told them about you and your background in real estate."

"Some people might not be willing to sell," Syed points out, "they've been here for a long time."

"My contacts will pay over the odds; they have a lot of money to launder."

"Money Laundering? Is that legal?" Zainab reluctantly asks.

"Of course," Nazir assures, "there are different kinds of money laundering; this is the legal kind."

"Of course it is," she laughs relieved.

He gives Syed an amused sideways glance, which she misses.

#

And so, the course is set. It is decided that the next day Tamwar will cover for Syed on the stall, and he will go with Nazir to meet his contacts, whose names Nazir is unwilling to divulge for the moment.

As he is leaving, be turns to Syed with the apparent afterthought. "Come with me for a drink tonight, and I'll fill you in on what they'll be looking for; give you a few tips on what to say to impress."

###

On his way home, Syed takes a detour to the park. He wanders aimlessly for a while, mulling things over. "I don't have to meet him tonight, or tomorrow or ever again. I could stop this right now," he reminds himself.

He buys a coffee from a vendor and sits on one of the benches. "I don't trust him," he admits, biting his lower lip uneasily. "I barely know him; and what I do know, I don't like."

The beeping of his phone alerts him to an angry message from Christian demanding to know where he is. With a sigh, he texts Nazir to say that he won't be able to meet that evening and no longer wants to be involved with the deal. He then slowly retraces his steps back towards the flat. "I won't see him again," he decides. The choice made, he feels more than a little deflated.

"Hi, sorry I'm late, mum asked me to ..." he begins, as he walks in the door of the flat.

"Where the hell have you been, you were supposed to be looking after Yas this afternoon? I've had to rearrange a client," Christian hisses, keeping his voice low enough so that their daughter cannot hear.

"Sorry, there was trouble up at th' mill," Syed murmurs.

"What are you taking about?"

"Nothing, it's from an old saying ... Never mind," he concludes gloomily, as Christian rushes out the door.

"What would you like for tea? I thought we could ..."

"I'll be late back; going for a drink with Rox after work," Christian calls over his shoulder.

"Our conversations are getting shorter and shorter," Syed thinks with a sigh.

_That evening_

"So, where are we going?" he asks once they are in the taxi. "Another fancy private members' wine bar, so you can lord your success over me one more time?"

"That's a little harsh," Nazir responds with a smile. He looks out the window at the passing shop fronts and people crowding the streets, to avoid the temptation to stare a little too obviously at his companion, who looks so striking in a snow-white shirt which sets off perfectly his beautiful brown eyes.

#

The place turns out to be a little less private, a nightclub in Central London.

"This is more Christian's scene than mine," Syed admits, looking around him at the seemingly endless wall of people eating up the space. He has only arrived, and is already feeling overwhelmed by the ear-splittingly loud music and the sense of chaos everywhere.

"Come," Nazir's voice says, close to his ear, and his arm around Syed's waist guides him towards a set of steps. The QR code on his phone gains them access to a raised, secluded VIP area.

"Drink?"

"Orange Juice," he automatically responds.

As Nazir speaks to the waiter, Syed has a moment to think, time to feel apprehensive about being out without Christian. He wonders for the first time in weeks what Christian is doing; where he and Roxy are; if Christian will wonder where he is. He didn't leave a note, or text to let him know he was going out. He turned off his phone after dropping Yasmin off with his parents. He knows that lately he's been making life difficult …

"This is a strange place to have a business meeting," he comments.

"We can talk business later," Nazir casually responds. "So, you don't go clubbing with Christian?"

"The odd time, but usually not."

"What do you like to do for fun?"

"I don't really … I suppose reading, going for dinner."

"Pretty boring. It's a good job Christian has blondie to hang out with."

"When I was in Leeds, I went out quite a bit; business drinks, lunches; social events and other business development opportunities with clients, which often ended with us going to a club. I went to museums, art galleries."

"Did you ever go out with people who had nothing to do with business? Did you have any friends?"

"Yes, I got on with the guys I worked with; the guys I shared a flat with."

"They weren't what you'd call friends, though, where they?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather talk about our meeting tomorrow, I can't stay out very late; Christian will wonder where I am," Syed snaps icily.

"But talking about you is so much more interesting," Nazir responds with a mocking smile. As he reaches out to teasingly tap him on the cheek, someone passing behind Syed accidentally knocks against him; pushing him closer, so that Nazir's hand ends up in buried in his hair.

"Don't," Syed says huskily, his eyes widening, his gaze helpless as he looks up at him.

Nazir's initial surprise quickly gives way to something a little more intense. They stare at each other without speaking for a charged moment. And then, after what feels like an eternity, Nazir leans forward to kiss him and he sighs with relief, his eyes drifting closed.

The kiss is immediately impatient, urgently pressing, demanding; Nazir's tongue forces its way into his mouth, his arms go around his waist and he pulls Syed up against him.

Syed can feel hands moving over his back, gripping his hips. He shudders as Nazir grinds up against him; his whole body is on fire. His hands grip solid shoulders as he starts to feel light-headed.

A slight realignment, and he finds himself with his back against a wall. "Nazir," he breathes.

But there is no time for talk. His moan, as Nazir reaches between them to pull down the zip of his jeans and slip a hand inside, is swallowed up in another punishing kiss. He searches for the other hand, to encourage it to find its way down inside the back of his jeans. "Touch me, please," he whimpers, a feeling of almost painful pleasure ripping through his body. "Please," he hoarsely begs, no longer caring about anything apart from the powerful need to be taken roughly.

Nazir has never in his life experienced anything like it. He has found his mate. Every time Syed moves against him, his body shudders in response. "I want you so much," the words burst from him.

"Now," Syed pleads, mindlessly attempting to turn to face the wall.

"Not here," he breathlessly insists.

"Please," Syed cries hoarsely, but Nazir grips his hands to still their frantic efforts to hold onto him.

"Shush," he soothes, reaching out a hand to gently stroke his cheek; it slides along to cup the back of his head and gently draw Syed to him once more.

Syed buries his face in the crook of his neck. His arms go around Nazir's waist and he clings to him, his body trembling with a need he can barely contain.

Nazir's arms, now on his back and around his waist, tighten their grip, attempting to bring him impossibly closer. "This is what paradise must feel like," he thinks feverently. As a hand moves back up to the back of Syed's head, he has another's thought, "I could kill him right now, I could smother him." Almost subconsciously, he increases the pressure, pressing Syed's face further into the crook of his neck until he cannot catch a breath.

Syed begins to struggle, grasping at his shoulders, trying to push him back.

Nazir thrills to feel his panic rising, his desperation. He can feel the moment Syed begins to weaken, to lose the strength to fight back. He waits an eternity before letting him raise his head.

Syed takes a big gulp or three of air. As he looks up at him, Nazir can see the fear and confusion in his eyes, but also a helpless hunger and need.

Syed lets himself be slowly drawn into Nazir's embrace once more. He lets himself be kissed, and is soon responding with equal vigour.

As their passion builds once more, his mouth moves to Nazir's cheek, to his neck.

"What would you be prepared to do for me?" Nazir whispers in his ear.

"Anything," he moans, pressing worshipful kisses against the exposed skin.

"Would you kill for me?" he softly wonders, too softly for Syed to hear.

"Let's get out of here," he growls, abruptly letting Syed go. "Syed?" he whispers harshly, when he gets no response.

"What?" he asks vaguely, instinctively leaning towards him once more.

"Not here," Nazir groans against his mouth. "Come," he commands, taking his hand and leading him outside.

The fresh air hits Syed with force, jerking him out of his trance.

"Taxi," Nazir impatiently calls, raising his right hand to summon one waiting nearby, whilst holding tightly onto Syed with his left. The taxi pulls up and he opens the door. "Get in," he commands.

"I can't," Syed says shakily, his breath catching on the last word. He pulls his hand free and rushes off before either of them can change his mind.

Nazir is thoughtful, as he sits in the taxi on his way home. He has discretely dabbled in the past, but would consider himself without question to be straight. A couple of months earlier, when he was scoping the area, he saw Syed for the first time, and felt an immediate, intense attraction. He remembers standing spellbound at a discrete distance watching him working on the stall; his beautiful smile at a customer, the way he laughed when a blond woman stopped to tell him something, the way he looked into Christian's eyes when he stopped by for a quick chat. Nazir experienced jealousy for the first time in his life that day, and has had Syed in his thoughts every moment since.

"Tonight, he looked into my eyes with that same intensity," he thinks with a shiver. "I guess we're not going to need the 'business contacts'." His fingers move to his lips; he can't wait for their next meeting.

###

Syed gets undressed as quietly as he can, and gingerly gets into the bed beside Christian.

"Where've you been," he mumbles.

"They had a large booking at the restaurant; Tam asked me to help out."

"When I couldn't reach you, I phoned Tam; you weren't at the restaurant."

He doesn't respond, and Christian soon falls back asleep. Syed turns so that he is lying with his back to him. He stares for a long while at a smiling, happy photo from their wedding day sitting on the bedside table. His eyes are looking at the photo, but all Syed can see is a pair of dark brown eyes staring deeply into him own; his heart is pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Where did you go last night?" Christian demands, as soon as Syed walks out of the bedroom the following morning.

"A business meeting," he quickly replies, jacket on, eyes on the front door, ready to escape.

"At that time of night? Who with?" Christian reaches out to grab his arm and force a conversation.

"I haven't got time …"

"I said, 'Who with?"'

"Tanya, she wanted my advice about expanding the Salon."

"Why did you lie?"

"I don't know."

"Not good enough."

"I'm sorry," Syed says, his tone subdued.

"Come here." Christian gently pulls him into his arms. "You know I love you, don't you?"

"I love you, too," he admits, a note of sadness in his voice.

"Whatever it is, you can talk to me."

"I know," Syed says quietly.

"Tonight, we'll have a proper chat, okay?"

"Okay," he nods.

_That evening_

"We really should do this more often," Christian says, as he snuggles a little closer to Syed on the couch.

"Yea, I'd like that," he responds contentedly.

It has been a lovely evening. Each has been extra attentive, Syed due to guilt and Christian because he is aware that Syed has been unhappy lately, without really understanding why. The chat has been almost like old times, teasingly playful, affectionate; each totally focused on the other, without anyone hogging the limelight.

Syed has listened properly to Christian for the first time in ages. He has shown an interest in what Christian is up to and suggested they go out one evening the following week for dinner, just the two of them.

Christian has made a genuine effort to find out how Syed is doing generally and if he is generally happy with his lot.

Syed has told Christian what he knows Christian will be happy to hear ...

After dinner, they curl up on the sofa and watch Starsky and Hutch with Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller, an excellent film they have seen before and enjoyed. About half way through, Christian's hands start to wander and Syed turns in his arms. They kiss slowly at first, and then with an increasing passion. "Let's go to bed," Christian breathes.

"Good idea, I'm really tired, it's been a long day, I'll probably fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow," Syed says with an exaggerated weariness. He gets up with a yawn and stretches his arms above his head in a provocative pose.

"It's a shame you're so tired," Christian sighs regretfully. He slowly reaches out a hand and strokes a couple of fingers across the exposed skin just above the belt buckle of his jeans. Syed shivers at the touch.

"Are you really so very tired?" he huskily tempts.

Syed smiles one of those smiles that has Christian up on his feet. He reaches for him, but Syed backs away, eyes challenging, defiant. Christian begins to walk towards him until Syed's back is against the wall. They stare into each other's eyes for a moment.

"Your move," he says huskily.

Syed slowly lets his head fall back against the wall and slightly to the side, his eyes drift closed and his mouth opens slightly; his tongue slips out and slides enticingly over his lips, and it's enough.

There is hardly time to get anywhere near the bed. They kiss hungrily, like strangers on a random hookup, hands tearing at each other's clothes. At one point, Syed looks into Christian's eyes, and he cannot see any trace of the man he married. Rather, this is his Christian, the man who needed him so badly, he could barely see straight, the man who was prepared to risk everything to be with him. "I love you," he moans, as Christian enters him.

If Christian could have formed a coherent thought at that moment, it would be to realise that it is the first time in a long time that Syed has said those words with genuine feeling.

"That was a blast from the past," he laughs, giving Syed a tender kiss and drawing him into his embrace.

"Yea," Syed grins. "It was almost worth missing the end of the film for."

"You cheeky pup," he cries in mock affront; his mouth searches for something sensitive to nip.

"No," Syed cries, trying to squirm away. "I didn't mean it, I promise," he giggles.

Christian gives up his search and settles contentedly back against the pillows.

Syed tucks himself up against him, and rests his head on Christian's chest. "It should always be like this," he sighs.

"You never told me why you lied to me last night," Christian remembers after a little while.

"I don't know," he responds awkwardly.

"Are you keeping something from me?"

"No, of course not."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"I really don't need this," Syed snaps defensively; and before Christian can stop him, he is up off the bed and reaching for his clothes.

"Take it easy," he cries surprised. "I know you wouldn't keep anything from me, babe," he gently assures, without being completely confident he is right. He reaches out to him, but Syed backs away.

"I'm sorry, I've got to go," he abruptly decides. Pulling on his jeans and shirt, he is out the door before Christian can figure out what went wrong.

###

"Sy's been out of sorts for months, and it's slowly getting worse," he complains to Roxy the next day. "

"What's going on? Why is my son sleeping on our couch?" Zainab interrupts.

"Zainab, hi," he greets, turning to face her.

"Hi, yes, now what's going on?"

"I'm not quite sure. We were having a lovely evening, and out-of-the-blue, he got upset and decided he had to leave. Sometimes, I get the feeling that if he actually came out and said half the things he's thinking, I'd be shocked at how little I really understand him."

"Well, with the way you witter on, I wouldn't worry too much about his thoughts because he'll probably never get the chance to tell you them," Roxy sniggers.

"I don't talk too much, do I?" he whines.

"Of course not, I'm only teasing," she laughs, giving him a hug.

"I'll speak to Syed. I'll try to get him to tell me what's bothering him," Zainab decides, her tone unimpressed. She walks away without another word.

###

_That evening_

"Hi babe," Christian greets, when Syed walks in. "We've got a visitor.

"Hi Roxy," Syed says politely. He walks towards the bedroom, and closes the door behind him.

"Hi Syed," she sarcastically mimics, "thrilled to see you too?"

"Dinner will be ready in 15," Christian calls after him, "Rox's joining us."

Syed stays in the shower as long as he can, trying to delay the inevitable. He hasn't really spoken to Roxy in weeks, and isn't very confident of his ability to be polite to her for a whole evening.

It starts off well enough; they have a mini catch up, some of it amusing. But as the dinner progresses, the atmosphere begins to get a bit tense. At one point, Roxy makes a dig at Syed about being such a pain in the arse recently. He suggests that maybe it's none of her business how he behaves, and that _maybe_ she should keep her nose out of his and Christian's relationship. Roxy begins to get drunk; Syed begins to withdraw, to check his phone ...

"Sometimes, I get the feeling you think you're better than us," she accuses after a fourth glass of wine.

"Of course I don't," he protests.

"You really do, doesn't he, Christian?" she insists.

"It can feel a bit like that sometimes," he reluctantly agrees. "You probably don't realise you're doing it," he tries to console.

"This is starting to feel like an ambush," Syed tetchily opines. "Did you invite her here tonight so you could both have a go?"

"No, of course not, but you have to admit you've haven't been yourself lately."

"Christian deserves better," Roxy pipes up, "You're lucky to have him, maybe you should be a little more grateful instead of whining all the time about what you want or don't want."

"Rox, don't," Christian warns, with a 'don't push him too far' look; which for Syed is the last straw.

"Excuse me," he says tensely, getting up from the table.

"Yea, go on, run away," she goads, "run back to mummy. She'll tell you what you want to hear, massage your ego, give you ideas above your station."

"That didn't really go according to plan," Christian wearily accepts, as the front door bangs behind Syed.

"God, he's so uptight," Roxy moans. "Why did you have to fall for him of all people?"

"I love him, I wish I didn't, but there you go."

"Whoever said love was blind definitely had something."

###

_The next morning_

"Morning sleeping beauty."

"Hmm," Syed murmurs, his eyes slowly opening. "Nazir, what, why are you here?" he cries.

"I might ask you the same question.

"Nazir," he barks.

"I bumped into your dad and Tamwar at Mosque, and they invited me back for lunch. What's your story? You didn't call out my name at the crucial moment, did you?"

"Like I've said more than once, my life is none of your business," Syed snaps.

"I wonder if my life is any of Christian's business," Nazir ponders. "I wonder if he would be interested to know what I've been up to recently,"

"You stay away from Christian," Syed warns, as he angrily pushes back the quilt, throws his legs onto the floor and stands up. Reaching quickly for his trousers, he makes the mistake of glancing in Nazir's direction, only to find himself being carefully studied. Nazir's, eyes gleam with a passionate regard as they zone in on Syed's crotch almost visible through the fitted pants.

"Do you mind?" His attempt at anger comes across as more of a breathless plea.

"Not at all," Nazir says huskily, reaching out to touch his naked chest.

"My parents are in the next room," Syed weakly reminds him. Yet, he can only watch helplessly as Nazir's hand slowly slides down. The touch sending a shiver of pleasure through him. If they get caught, the consequences ... it's unthinkable, and yet he lacks the strength to lift a hand to push him away.

Nazir abruptly bends down until he is kneeling in front of him. He slides his hands over Syed's hips and gently pulls him closer, pressing his mouth against his crotch, inhaling his scent. He sticks his tongue out to lick the now-bulging material.

Syed draws a harsh breath. He bites down on his fist to prevent a moan escaping.

"Syed, are you up? You'd better be up," his mother calls her warning from the kitchen.

Nazir draws back and back onto his feet. He pushes Syed back onto the couch and throws the quilt over him in one easy movement, just before Masood walks in.

"Don't let your mother see you still in that state," he strongly advises, assuming that Syed's flushed face and obviously muddled state are a sign that he has just woken up.

"Umm," Syed mumbles.

"Your son has just been telling me to mind my own business," Nazir says with a smirk in Syed's direction.

"Well, since Syed's business is often rather complicated, that's probably good advice," Masood recommends, with a teasing smile for his son.

Syed nods and tries his best to look amused.

#

Brunch is a jovial affair, with Zainab, Masood, Tam and Afia all in fine spirits. Nazir is included in the friendly banter, and Syed watches how innocently he behaves, how easily he ingratiates himself with them all. He tells some funny stories about his mother's attempts to find him a wife, he has lots to tell about Pakistan and the village where Masood and Zainab were born and raised, as his family also lives there. They have many people in common, and before long are enjoying a walk down memory lane. Syed wants to tell his family not to trust this charming man, that he is not what he seem to be; but more than anything he wants to feel Nazir's arms around him once more, to feel his touch ..." Suddenly Nazir is looking directly at him; for a split second their eyes meet and he blushes. And then, his phone beeps. "Where the hell are you?" the text from Christian doesn't beat around the bush. "At mum's; I'll be home in a bit," he replies.

"Christian?" Zainab guesses.

"Yea," he replies.

"What's going on with you two? "This is the second time in a week you've stayed here."

"I've got to get back," he responds, pushing back his chair and getting up.

###

"I've had enough of this," Christian barks as soon as he walks in the door of the flat. "Next time you decide to go back to mummy and daddy for the night, you can take your stuff with you, because I'll be changing the locks."

"I'm sorry ..."

"For what? What the hell's going on with you?"

"There's nothing ... it's nothing, honestly," Syed insists. "I just needed a bit of time to clear my head."

"What does that mean?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, and why is that? Am I not clever enough to be able to grasp the problems of someone with a third-level education?"

"No, of course not. Have I ever said ...?

"You didn't have to."

"What I meant was that you wouldn't understand how I'm feeling, because you've never struggled with the ... stuff I'm struggling with."

"What stuff?"

"It's just ... how I'm feeling," he concludes inadequately, unable to find the words to explain.

"How you're feeling about what?"

"Nothing, it's nothing," Syed says quietly.

"Well, I guess you were right when you said I wouldn't understand," Christian says sarcastically.

"When I try to explain … things, as soon as you hear something you don't like, you cut me short, you become defensive."

"So, basically, whatever is wrong is my fault; what a surprise."

"It's not your fault, not really, but turning every argument into a shouting match doesn't help."

"Yea, because I'm loud and obnoxious; I'm too rough and ready for a man with such delegate sensibilities. But isn't it funny how that doesn't seem to bother you when we're having sex. You never complain when I've got you pinned under me. Then again, maybe that's all you want from me now. Since we started living together, you've slowly started to withdraw; you've seen me close up, when I'm drunk, when I'm not looking my best, and you've found me wanting. That's what this is really about. Roxy was right, you're a snob."

"I guess Roxy knows best," Syed says miserably.

"Yea, yea, yea, all our problems are Rox's fault, or my fault," Christian sneers. "What's it like being so perfect?"

"I've never ...?"

But Christian is already walking into the bedroom, turning on the shower, getting ready to go out.

As he pulls off his shirt and jeans, he has a moment of clarity. "Sy's made up his mind about something," he thinks uneasily, "and everything I say and do is helping to reinforce the decision he's made. Suddenly, Christian is scared. "I'm losing him," he thinks, a nauseous feeling overcoming him. "I'm losing him," he realises, even as he replies to Syed's question with a prickly, "It takes two to make a relationship work, and I'm sick of being the one making all the effort." He cannot stop the defensive words from spilling out, even as he finally realises the damage they are doing.

#

A little later, sitting alone in the flat, Syed thinks about Christian's words. "I don't want to be a snob, I don't care how he looks first thing in the morning when he's suffering from a hangover, do I? I'm just not used to it, there was never any alcohol in our house; dad never had a hangover. And uncle AJ wasn't allowed near the house when we were growing up; he had to sneak in when mum was away visiting. The first time I saw anyone drunk, I was in my late teens."

And then, he thinks about Nazir. In this direction, his thoughts are crystal clear. He knows exactly what he wants from Nazir.

###

_A couple of hours later_

Syed pushes open the door of the Vic; it's been ages since he's been here and he feels a little self-conscious. That soon fades when he spots Roxy and Christian at the bar with two guys. One of them has his arm around Christian; he's standing very close to him, whispering something in his ear, his hand slides down to grab his bum. Syed turns and walks out again.

"Get off," Christian laughs, grabbing the guy's hand and pushing it away. "I'll have you know I'm taken."

"Don't be a tease," Jack (or John) giggles, reaching for him once more.

"Let's get out of here," Christian mouths to Roxy. He turns and lurches slightly unsteadily for the door.

"He was cute," Roxy protests, as they burst out of the Vic, giggling and shoving playfully at each other.

"Yea, not bad; I've still got it," Christian laughs.


	6. Chapter6

**Chapter 6**

"Syed, hi," Nazir greets, surprised to find him on the doorstep.

"Can I come in?" Syed meekly requests.

"Of course." He gestures for him to enter and precede him down a narrow hallway and into a large bright sitting room.

Syed stands just inside the door, looking around the richly furnished room.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you," he politely refuses.

Nazir leaves the drinks and walks over to him. He slips his arms around Syed's waist and kisses him deeply. "Come upstairs," he says huskily.

"Okay," Syed agrees, his tone flat. His heart feels so heavy he can hardly bare it.

Nazir doesn't ask about what might be bothering him; he has only one thought in his head right now, and it is definitely not that they should have a conversation. He walks off, expecting Syed to follow.

"His bedroom may be richly furnished, but Syed doesn't get the chance to find out. Before he is fully inside the door, Nazir has a hold of him, has him face down on the bed and is impatiently removing any clothing that will come off easily and ripping off the rest.

Syed lies motionless, letting him do what he will.

Nazir abruptly grabs his arm and flips him onto his back. In the same movement, he slaps him hard across the face. "Look at me," he orders.

Syed puts a hand up to his cheek, his eyes filling with tears.

"I said, look at me," he barks, gripping his jaw and forcing him to meet his burning gaze. "You knew what would happen if you came here."

Syed nods obediently.

"If I wanted a rag doll, I would have ordered one online, do you understand?"

"Yes," he says huskily.

Releasing his grip, Nazir's hand moves to gently stroke the red mark on Syed's cheek. He then slides it over his mouth and slips his middle and fore fingers inside, stroking them in and out a few of times to moisten. He slips the same two fingers between Syed's legs, and lowers his head to take him into his mouth.

Syed draws a harsh breath at the unexpected assault on his body, and is soon lost in a world where only sensations matter.

#

Early the next morning, as soon as he is sure that Nazir has finally fallen asleep, Syed creeps away.

#

"Hi," he says apprehensively, when he walks in the door of the flat to find Christian sitting on the couch waiting for him, looking very angry.

"One more night, once more the absent boyfriend; where were you this time? And don't say it was back at home, because I checked."

"I'm going to have shower," Syed responds, a slight tremor in his voice. He makes a move towards the bathroom.

"Has something happened, have you been attacked?" Christian asks anxiously.

"No ..."

"How did you get the cut lip? Where did the bruises on your neck come from?" he demands, getting up and walking quickly towards him.

"I need to have a shower," Syed insists, nervously backing away.

Christian grabs his arm to prevent his escape, causing him to wince in pain. "Syed, tell me what happened," he demands, his voice rising in concern. He pulls open his jacket, sliding it down Syed's arms, and sees the scratches, more bruising, the torn shirt ... "Sy?" he begins fearfully, gently cupping his cheek, looking deep into his eyes. And then ... "Whose aftershave is that?" he asks, his face blanching.

"I stayed at ... in the restaurant."

"Were you attacked or ... raped by some guy?" he asks shakily, a look of horror on his face. "We need to get you to a doctor, call the police ..."

"No, I'm fine. I wasn't raped," Syed cries desperately as he watches him search for his phone.

"So, what happened? Who did this to you?"

Syed helplessly shakes his head. "It was a mistake," he whispers.

"You were willing?" Christian asks faintly.

"No, I ... it was ... just a kiss."

Christian moves closer, his eyes carefully examining Syed's mouth; his overly red, slightly swollen lips ... He abruptly reaches around to grab him by the back of the neck, his hand burying itself in his hair, pulling it roughly, forcing his head to tilt backwards. There is no passion in the kiss. His tongue forces its way in, and he can taste him ...

"You let some guy stick his dick in your mouth, you let him shag you, because we had an argument?" he cries hoarsely, pushing Syed away in disgust.

"Please ..."

"Have your shower, pack your bags and get out," he coldly interrupts. Pushing past Syed, he walks out the door, banging it behind him.

"Syed's tears are washed away by the spray from the shower. He gets dressed, gathers his things together and leaves the flat.

#

He went off with some guy," Christian moans against Roxy's shoulder. We had an argument, and he did that," he cries in disbelief. "Why do I put up with it, the way he treats me?"

"How many times have I told you that he doesn't deserve you?" she reminds him. "He's never really known what he wanted; it's time to forget about him, babe."

"It's really over this time," Christian assures her tearfully.

"Tonight, you're coming out with me; we're going to get very drunk, and find us a couple of hot guys."

"Yea," Christian agrees, but for the first time in his life, he doesn't think drinking and shagging are going to be able to dull the pain. The thought of Syed with another guy hurts more and more the more he thinks about it.

An energetic bout of clubbing and a couple of bottles of wine later, and Christian is feeling no better. "Let's get out of here," he pleads.

Roxy opens her mouth to protest, but changes her mind when she sees the tears in his eyes. "I'm right behind you," she slurs, turning on her heal and lurching unsteadily towards the exit. Christian follows, with less enthusiasm.

He can't bear the thought of going back to an empty flat, so they both end up in the Vic.

"We've argued before; I've said some really vicious things to him, but he's never done anything like this. So why now?" he cries, shaking his head dejectedly.

"He's always been unpredictable," Roxy points out.

"No, no more alcohol, it's doing nothing for me tonight," Christian pleads, as she approaches with a bottle of vodka nicked from downstairs and a couple of glasses.

"Syed's an idiot; you don't need him," she insists, dropping down next to him. "He's a total git. I don't know what you ever saw in him."

"Don't Rox," he murmurs. "Don't slag him off like that."

"Christian, babe, you've been doing nothing but moaning about him for months," she reminds him, as she leans too far forward to pour herself a generous measure and almost falls off the couch.

"I'm going to go, I think I need to be on my own for a bit," Christian says despondently. He attempts to get up, but she pulls him back down.

"Listen," she says patiently, holding his face between her hands. "You're so much better off without him. Now you won't have to resist all those cute guys we see when we're out. You're free," she cries, extending her arms dramatically, and spilling her drink as she does so.

"I don't want to be free," he moans, his eyes filling with tears once more.

"Of course you do. Remember that gorgeous guy in the Vic the other day, yesterday, James or John or whatever; he was a right laugh, the guy with the sports car."

"He didn't have a sports car," Christian sighs, "and he was full of shit."

"What, no way, you were totally into him, flirting your arse off. I could see it, Syed could see it, and he was all the way over at the door."

"What?" Christian asks, his eyes widening in surprise. "Sy saw us?"

"Um, maybe. I thought I saw him walk in, but then he turned and walked back out; maybe it was someone else," she finishes lamely.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"It wasn't him, I only thought for a moment; no, it wasn't him," Roxy tries to backtrack, sensing, even in her drunken haze that she's in trouble.

"You let him leave, knowing what he was thinking; knowing he was probably upset," Christian responds, his voice raising in anger.

"Babe, seriously, you need to admit to yourself that you're no longer in love with him. It's been obvious for months that you're bored with him, with the whole cozy domestic scene, the kid, all of it. The spark has gone. Admit it," Roxy cries dramatically, grabbing his face between her hands once more and looking deep into his eyes, as if she might at any moment attempt an exorcism.

"You don't have a fucking clue, Rox," Christian barks, pushing her away and jumping up. "I can't believe you didn't at least tell me he'd seen us."

"You were having a laugh with James or John or ..."

"I was mucking about; it was nothing more than that. I was still upset over the argument I'd had with Sy earlier; you heard me give him the brush off."

"Yea, but only because you were feeling guilty. Christian, babe ..." She reaches out to grab his arm to pull him back down onto the couch, but he backs away and out of reach. "Christian, babe, are you telling me that if you weren't with Syed, you wouldn't go there?"

"But I am with Sy, and I love Sy; and now I've lost him because you let him believe I was hooking up with another guy."

"Well, technically, that's your own fault, Christian, babe."

"Will you stop calling me ...," Christian begins frustratedly, but she interrupts.

"In the past, Christian ... babe, you've gone off with guys so many times to make him jealous, that he probably feels he can no longer trust you." At this point, she tries to get up, but loses her balance and falls over.

"Rox," he barks, impatiently yanking her off the floor and dumping her onto the couch, "I only went with other guys when we were on a break." This defence sounds feeble (and vaguely familiar) even to his own ears.

"But every time you do it, he probably feels more insecure."

"Maybe," Christian says thoughtfully. "We've never really talked about that side of things. We patch things up and put our problems behind us."

"Are you sure about that? Remember how insecure you were about Amira, even though you knew Syed was gay. So can you imagine how seeing you with other guys effects him?"

"But they don't mean anything, they never have; he's the only person who has ever meant anything to me. I love him so much, and I can't bear the thought of ... of ..." Christian breaks off as his emotions overcome him once more.

"Christian, babe, you're upset right now; but when you have time to reflect, you'll realise that you're well rid."

"You really don't like him, do you?" he says huskily.

"I need another drink. Lets get another bottle from downstairs."

"Rox."

"No, I don't like him, I only put up with him because of you. I'll be so relieved when you finally bin him for good."

"Why do you assume we're not permanent?"

"It might have something to do with the way you slag him off all the time? Christian, Chris, babe, hon, Syed's just a phase, a very long phase admittedly, but you'll see sense eventually and move on."

"No, I won't; he's not a phase, he's the most important person in my life."

"Since when?"

"You really have such a poor opinion of our relationship."

"Yea, and I got it from the horse's mouth."

"That's why Syed doesn't like you; he knows how you feel about him; you don't give him the respect you should give my boyfriend. You treat him like some cheap fuck, who isn't worth being nice to because he won't be around for long; and you get that impression from me."

"You don't really love him; you have nothing in common; he's not even your type."

"But I do love him, and I need to see him," Christian realises. "I need to give him a chance to explain why he cheated."

"Christian," Roxy cries frustratedly, as he rushes out the door.

#

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," Zainab shouts angrily as she marches down the stairs, but the banging doesn't cease until she opens the front door. "This better be good," she warns.

"I need to speak to Syed," Christian demands, "and I'm not moving until you let me see him."

"Syed? What are you talking about?"

"I know he's here."

"But he's with you?"

"No, he's been here since yesterday."

"We haven't seen him since the day before yesterday."

"What's going on?" Masood mumbles sleepily, appearing at his wife's shoulder.

"Christian's looking for Syed," Zainab explains. "When did you last see him?"

"Yesterday morning, we argued and I threw him out," Christian admits.

"I saw Syed around lunchtime; he was with Nazir, they were driving off somewhere," Tamwar reveals, coming down the stairs.

"You know this guy?" Christian asks incredulously.

"He's a friend from Mosq*ue," Masood explains.

"Oh, so you figured that if you couldn't persuade your precious son to be with a Mu*lim woman, then you'd throw a M*slim guy at him to see if that would stick," Christian bitterly accuses. "Because anything is better than ..."

"They're not ... together," Zainab cries horrified. "Not that there's anything wrong ...," she tries to modify her response, but there is no need to, as Christian is too stressed to notice her_ faux paux._

"Why do you think I threw him out?" he shouts.

"Okay, everybody calm down, we don't know anything for sure," Masood tries to reason. "Let me ring him. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"There's no point, I've had his number on redial for the past 15 minutes."

"Wherever he is, maybe he's asleep; after all it is the middle of the night," Zainab points out sarcastically.

Masood dials Syed's mobile, and after a couple of rings, there is an answer. "Syed, hi, where are you? Christian ..." He pauses, listening. "Nazir, what are you doing with Syed's phone?"

"After a moment, he hangs up, looking worried.

"What? What is it Mas? What did Nazir say?" Zainab anxiously demands.

"He said, 'an eye for an eye'."

"No," Afia breathes, and they all turn to see her standing at the top of the stairs looking as if she might fall in a faint at any moment.

"Afia, are you okay?" Tamwar asks, surprised.

"It wasn't meant to be Syed," she whispers, her eyes filling with tears.

Now she has everyone's undivided attention.

"What are you talking about?" Zainab demands fearfully.

Afia simply stares at them in horror, unable to speak, unable to move.

"Afia," she screams, running up the stairs to grab her by both arms and shake her, before anyone else can react. "Tell me, tell me what you've done."

"Mum, stop it," Tamwar orders, trying to prize her away.

"It was supposed to be you," Afia shakily confesses.

"What are you talking about? What did you do to my precious boy?" Zainab cries, and when Afia doesn't immediately speak, she slaps her hard across the cheek.

Afia blinks a couple of times. "You killed my father," she shouts at her mother-in-law. "You killed him," she screams, her face screwed up with hatred. "Did you really think I could just forgive you for that; put it behind me as if it didn't matter?"

"What? You hired some guy ...?" Christian's voice trails away, because he can't quite grasp what's happening.

"Zee, go into the kitchen and make some tea," Masood calmly requests, putting his hand on her arm.

"Tea?" she cries incredulously, turning to look at him in amazement. "You've lived way too long in this country, it you think a cup of tea will fix ..."

"Please, let me talk to Afia," he pleads, raising a hand to silence the accusation and panic ready to burst forth from her; and for once, his wife seems to sense how important it is for her to control her natural instinct to scream the place down.

"Christian," Masood motions for him to take her away.

"Is he in danger?" he weakly pleads.

"I think so," is Masood's gravely honest response.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

After the kitchen door closes behind them, Masood turns to Afia. "Let's go into the sitting room," he calmly suggests.

Once they are seated on the couch, with Tamwar next to Afia holding her hand, he begins.

"Afia, it's important that you tell us exactly what happened from your first contact with Nazir. Please don't leave anything out."

"He got in touch a few weeks after dad died," she begins, her voice slightly hoarse. "He told me he was my half-brother."

"How did you know he was telling the truth?" Tamwar asks.

"He knew all about dad's family; he had photos of my grandparents. He is the image of dad when he was in his teens; I've seen old photos."

"Of course, you're right. When I first met Nazir, I had a feeling I'd seen him somewhere before ..." Masood trails off. "You met up with him?"

"We met once, he wasn't particularly interested in getting to know me; all he wanted to talk about was the fire and everything that went on beforehand."

What did he tell you about himself?"

"He told me that my ... our dad met his mum a few months after you and Zainab ran off together."

"Yusuf told him about what happened back then?" Masood asks, surprised.

"There was a fire, Zainab was almost burned to death, she left with you. Don't you think the whole village was talking about it? Nazir's mother, uncle, aunt, kids in the playground; just about anyone could have told him about what happened back then," Afia snaps irritability.

"Of course, he murmurs.

"For the first few years of his life, Nazir believed his aunt and her husband were his parents. When he was five years old, my father returned from England and wanted to meet him. He was told the truth about his parentage, and his biological mother took him to live to Kara*chi. As he grew up, Nazir saw our father only every couple of months. It was explained to him that dad had to travel to England to work and could only get home for the odd week."

"Your father led a double life?"

"Yes," Afia huskily confirms.

"Did he marry Nazir's mother?" Masood can't hide his curiosity.

"They were married in 1989?"

"So, ..."

"He married my mother in 1986," she sharply clarifies. "I was a year old when he returned to Pakist*an to meet Nazir and marry his mum. My mum and I, we obviously weren't enough for him." Afia wipes away a tear, and Tamwar puts his arm around her shoulder.

"There was only one thing about your father that I ever found to be sincere, and that was his love for you," Masood gently assures.

Afia manages a weak but grateful smile. "When I was growing up, I remember him travelling back to Pakist*an many times. My mum and I rarely travelled with him; he said he wouldn't have any time to spend with us, as he would be very busy. He used to do volunteer work in a poor area of Kara*chi, to give something back, or at least that's what he told us ..."

"Nazir knew nothing about you?"

"When he heard about the fire, he wanted to know exactly what had happened. After speaking to my dad's cousin Tariq, he decided to travel to London."

"Your dad's cousin, of course," Tamwar eagerly pounces on the slender connection. "Let's go and see him; call him straight away."

"I fell out with Tariq when I discovered that he had been involved in setting the fire that almost killed Zainab. The last I heard, he'd gone back to Pakist*an. The number he used in the UK no longer works, and it's the only one I have," Afia offers regretfully.

"It was Tariq who told Nazir about me."

"And you told him about us," Masood says quietly.

"He wanted to know all about you, as much detail as possible. He said it would help him to plan ..."

"What did you tell him about Syed?"

"I told him that Syed used to be an estate agent, but that he doesn't seem to have very good instincts when it comes to business, that he is gay and living with Christian and ... and ...," she hesitates.

"Please Afia, the more we know the better chance we have," Tamwar pleads.

"I told him that Zainab cares more about Syed than anyone or anything in the world," she confesses miserably. "I'm so sorry."

After a moment, Masood huskily asks, "What else did you tell him about Zee?"

"I told him about dad drugging her."

"Anything else?" Tamwar gently prompts.

"I told him about what she did," Afia says, looking up for the first time, her tone hardening, her gaze defiant. "He deserved to know the truth about the cruel way our father died. It is no word of a lie to say that Zainab sent him into that fire; that she used his love for me to send him to his death." Afia breaks off at this point and buries her face in her hands. "He died because of me," she cries despairingly.

"That's ridiculous; how could you think such a thing?" Masood rubbishes the idea, the first sign of impatience creeping into his voice.

"You were completely blameless," Tamwar quickly adds, his tone a little more conciliatory.

"If Syed ... dies, l won't be blameless," she cries despondently.

There are no words of reassurance Masood or Tamwar can offer.

After a moment, she continues. "He told me he would make her pay. I assumed he meant ... I did not expect him to go after Syed; I never wanted that. I like Syed; he has always been very nice to me. There were times when he was the only person who made me feel welcome in this house. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to him," she moans, tears streaming down her face.

"Afia, can you tell us where your brother lives, where he might go, what he was planning to do?" Masood presses.

She shakes her head regretfully. "He only told me enough of his history to convince me of his identity. Nothing more than that. He said it was safer for me to know very little about him, and nothing of his plans."

"What did he tell you about himself?" Tamwar asks his father.

"Well, he ... I suppose he told me ..." Masood tries to think of one thing Nazir said that could be of use. "He's covering for Dr Fonseca. Yes, yes, of course," he cries excitedly, quickly reaching for his phone.

"Dad, its 2am."

"Of course it is," he agrees, deflated.

"You can go to the surgery first thing." Tamwar tries to be positive.

"I'll do that," he manages to huskily confirm, running a hand through his hair, his eyes glazing over for the first time.

"Afia, can you think of anything else he might have said, no matter how insignificant?"

"We spoke on the phone initially. I was so shocked to find out I had a brother. I wanted to ask him so many things. I knew very little about my father's life in Pakistan; and the thought of being able to speak freely about him, to learn more about his life was like a gift. I couldn't mention his name to anyone in this family. I needed to talk about him, to remember him." She stops for a moment, her heart too full to speak.

"I'm sorry you didn't feel you could talk to me," Tamwar says sadly.

"Nazir told me that my dad's family are Pusht*un, that they originally came from Pesha*war in the North West where they practiced a strict form of Isl*am. He explained the idea of justice or revenge as they believe it, and why he felt it was his duty to avenge his father's murder. He was so focused; I remember being a little afraid of the intensity in his eyes. Afterwards, I did a little research, and discovered that one of the traditions of the Pusht*uns is that a man will travel miles, spend years patiently waiting for an opportunity to get revenge on someone who has wronged him. I realised that that's what dad did; he waited more than 27 years to get revenge on you and Zainab." She directs a reminder at Masood.

"It's true," Tamwar quietly realises.

"Nazir didn't seem to care that he had a sister," she says sadly. He wasn't interested in finding out anything about my life. As soon as he had the information he needed, he was eager to be away. I was disappointed, but didn't try to stop him. Almost from the moment we met, I felt his friendly demeanour was insincere. I could see nothing of dad in him."

"The man you describe sounds exactly like your dad," Masood interrupts, his tone hard.

Afia doesn't comment.

"This is getting us nowhere; we need to call the police," Tamwar suggests anxiously.

"And tell them what?" Masood asks with a sigh. "Syed went with Nazir of his own free will."

"We have to do something."

A tentative knock, the door slowly opens and Christian walks in. "Whatever you're planning, I'd like to help," he offers.

"Can you borrow Ian's car?" Masood asks. "You and Tam should drive around the area. Zee, can you look for a recent photo of Syed and get copies made to leave in shops restaurants, bars; someone might have seen him. I'll see if I can find out anything at the surgery in the morning. I suppose it would do no harm to also try the police station," he adds with a sympathetic smile in Tamwar's direction, "you never know what they might have heard."

"What can I do?" Afia pleads.

Masood looks at her for a long moment without speaking. "The hospitals," he finally says huskily, "phone the hospitals."

###

_Earlier that day_

Syed's call didn't explain anything, and Nazir didn't ask any questions.

When he collects him from outside the flat, he notes with satisfaction the bin bag full of clothes he has with him.

Syed sits quietly next to him as Nazir drives, his mind empty of thought. Neither speak.

"We're here," he shortly announces, pulling into a residential street.

Syed blinks, looking around him. "Have you moved?" he asks surprised.

"Yes, it's temporary," Nazir explains rather bruskly.

"They get out of the car and approach a house which is part of a row of terrace houses. There is a little, overgrown garden at the front, divided by a narrow path leading up to a dated front door with the paint peeling off. Nazir has a key and they enter.

Syed can hear voices speaking in Urdu coming from the back of the house.

Nazir calls out to announce his arrival; and from his knowledge of the language, Syed makes out the words "God be with you" and "I have him."

He leads Syed into a room, which does not appear to have ever been decorated in any meaningful way. There is a two-ring camping cooker in one corner, an old rusty sink in another, and a plastic garden table and four matching plastic chairs in the middle of the floor. On the table, are a few books, four unwashed mugs, a half-finished packet of digestive biscuits; and an electric kettle. The kettle has attached to it an extension lead, which trails across the floor to plug into an electric socket at the wall. However, the thing Syed cannot take his eyes off is the gun sitting on the table next to the mugs.

"Have you eaten?" Nazir asks, interrupting his thoughts.

"I'm not hungry," he nervously responds.

Two men enter the room and warmly greet Nazir, without any acknowledgement of Syed's presence. Whilst they talk in what appears to be their native tongue, he has time to think that he has made a terrible mistake. That feeling of unease he had felt around Nazir from the beginning has crystallized into a fear so powerful he can feel it coming up in his throat. He is still unsure of what precisely there is to be afraid of, but knows without a doubt that he is in some kind of danger. He looks around him, automatically searching for a means of escape.

"Here, drink this," Nazir says sharply.

Syed jumps guiltily, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Thank you," he manages, taking the glass of juice from him.

"Come, let me show you where you will be sleeping."

"Actually, I think I've acted too hastily," Syed responds in a breathless voice. "I think I'll go home. Sorry for wasting your time" He quickly finishes the juice and hands the empty glass back to Nazir. "I can find my own way back," he calls over his shoulder as he walks quickly towards the front door. As his hand reaches out to open it, he begins to lose focus. Nazir catches him before he hits the floor.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_The next morning_

"What did you and Syed argue about, if you don't mind me asking?" Tamwar tentatively probes, as they drive up a road no more than two streets away.

"It was nothing important," Christian attempts to dismiss.

"It must have been pretty serious, if he was prepared to do something so drastic."

"He saw me in the Vic with a guy."

"You're having an affair?"

"No," Christian corrects with a sad smile. "I was with Rox; we'd had a bit too much to drink ..."

"You and Roxy tend to do that a lot," Tamwar remarks.

"We'd had too much to drink," he continues in the same flat tone, without reacting or correcting him, "and we started flirting with a couple of guys who were also well on it."

"Did you ... hook up with ... your guy?"

"No, I told him I was in a relationship. I was facing away from the front door; I didn't see Syed on his way in, but he saw the guy with his arm around me, probably whispering something ..."

"He surely wouldn't have run off without at least discussing it with you?" Tamwar protests.

"I think it might have been the last straw," Christian admits. "I think Syed has been unhappy for a while."

###

Syed forces his eyes to open, to look around the unfamiliar room. As he tries to sit up, spots appear, and he has to lay back against the pillows. The bedroom door opens and Nazir enters.

"Where am I?" he cries shakily.

"It's okay, you fainted, you've got a virus; you need to take it easy for a few days," Nazim gently reassures, coming to sit on the bed beside him.

"My head feels ... I can't seem to focus on anything."

"You're probably dehydrated. Drink this, it'll help." He hands Syed a glass of apple juice.

Once it is empty, Nazir takes the glass, and gently presses him back until he is lying down once more.

Syed falls sleep.

###

_Later that day _

"All the Surgery would tell me was that Nazir has not been at work for the past couple of days," Masood announces, on his way in the front door, "They couldn't give me his home address, as they have to protect his privacy. There was an agency girl covering, and no matter what I said she wouldn't budge."

"What about the police?" Zainab asks hopefully.

"They took the details and filed a missing person's report; but as soon as I admitted that he'd gone with Nazir of his own free will, they seemed to lose interest."

"I phoned cousin Malala and aunty Reema back home, but they've heard nothing that could be of use," Zainab says dejectedly. "They told me that Nazir has no wife or kids, but that he does have a couple of friends who lived in the village."

"Did you get a number? Can we call …?" Masood begins, but she is shaking her head.

"They recently travelled to London, and no one's heard a word since the day they left."

"Right," he responds, deflated.

"Reema spoke to Nazir's aunt, his mother's sister, who still lives locally, but she hadn't heard from Nazir since his mother died over four years ago."

"You travelled to Pakist*an with Yusuf around the time Amira returned to tell us about Yasmin," Masood tentatively recalls.

"Yes," Zainab reluctantly admits. "I don't remember very much about the trip. I was unwell for most of it ..."

"You were drugged."

Zainab bites her bottom lip; her eyes look down in the direction of her hands. "I've tried so hard to recall … something, anything; but all I can be sure of is that, one evening during the trip, Yusuf introduced me to two people who he said were his niece and her husband," she reveals after a short silence. "I know we were at a restaurant, but I can't remember what they looked like, their names or anything else about them."

"Zee, it's okay," Masood gently assures, seeing the tears of frustration in her eyes.

"I asked Malala if she could find out more about the niece, but she was convinced that the only sister Yusuf did have had no children."

"We all believed his lies."

"I was such a fool," she moans.

"Have you heard anything from Tam and Christian?" he gently prompts after a little while.

"They've been up and down every street in Walford; handed photos in at every shop, restaurant and pub ..."

"No luck."

"None."

"What about the internet?"

"Tam could find no trace of Nazim on any of the social media sites."

"Where is Afia?"

"She's been at the restaurant all day, and went straight upstairs when she returned. I think she's trying to avoid me."

"You could be right," Masood agrees with the understatement.

"Oh where can he be?" Zainab cries, in a burst of despair.

"I would give all I have of value in the world to have the answer to that question, my love." Masood puts his arms around her, and Zainab buries her face in his shoulder.

###

_The following morning_

Syed opens his eyes once more and looks around him in confusion. He has no idea what day it is; but there is a fresh, early morning feel to it, and he can make out the sunlight shining through the dirty glass of the very small window on the other side of the room. "What am I doing here?" he wonders a little fearfully. He drags himself into a sitting position.

"Good morning, are you hungry?" Nazir asks from a few feet away. Syed jolts at the sound of his voice, not having been aware of his entering.

"Thank you," he says politely, accepting a bowl of cereal and a glass of juice.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," he answers unconvincingly. "Let me wash them," he offers when Nazir attempts to take the empty dish and glass from him. "I think I'm well enough to get up." He attempts to stand.

"There's no rush, rest today. You'll need to be on top of your game for tomorrow. We'll be leaving here early in the morning. Remember I told you about my business contacts? Well, I've arranged a meeting."

"Really?" Syed shows a flicker of interest.

"I've told them all about you; they're eager to meet."

Syed smiles a tentative smile. "Okay," he agrees. "I'd like to go home afterwards."

"Of course, whatever you need," Nazir assures.

###

_In another part of town_

"I don't think I've ever seen you so quiet," Tamwar observes.

"I've been thinking," Christian says huskily.

"About your relationship with Syed?"

"The day he moved in with me was the happiest day of my life. I remember, as clearly, as if it were yesterday, how incredible it felt to wake up the next morning and find him lying next to me, and to realise that he wouldn't have to sneak away as soon as he woke up. I lay there watching him sleep for probably half an hour, and then I could wait no longer; I woke him up and we ..."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you did," Tamwar quickly interrupts. "You were happy in the beginning, but it didn't last; the novelty of having him all to yourself soon wore off."

Christian opens his mouth to protest, to accuse him of taking Syed's side and of never thinking he was good enough for his precious brother. But before the rash words can leave his mouth, he forces himself to replay Tamwar's words over in his mind a few times, and it occurs to Christian that he may just have a point. "I don't think I really know Syed as well as I used to," he quietly admits.

"When you talk, what do you generally talk about, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Most of the time, we have what you might call surface conversations: about our plans for the day, what we're having for dinner, who's going to look after Yas. We don't tend to have much of what you might call quality alone time."

"What about other stuff, stuff you might want to get off your chest?"

"We don't really sit down and talk very often, but we do find time to catch up. Usually, as soon as I get home from work, I tell him everything about my day, whilst I'm doing other stuff; all the little dramas." He smiles self-depreciatingly.

"Does he return the favour?"

"Not really. His life tends to be pretty uneventful."

"You really believe there is never anything he would like to talk about, no problem he might need to share?"

"I suppose I haven't really thought about it," Christian admits. "We just seem to have one of those relationships where I'm the chatty one, and he's the listener. Although, just recently, it's felt like he'd stopped ... listening."

"If you were doing all the talking and he had no input, he was bound to tune you out eventually," Tamwar points out.

"Is that what you do to Zainab?"

"No comment," he smiles.

"I'm beginning to realise that he's a very secretive person."

"A gay boy, teenager, man, growing up in a Musl*m family and community; trust me, he's an expert at hiding things."

"I suppose so. He has never talked about what it was like, how he coped. Has he talked to you?"

"I think he would struggle to talk to me about something so personal. There would be many roads we just couldn't go down. I did try to broach the subject, but we struggled to get much further than him admitting that he'd felt lonely for most of his life until he found you."

"When did he say that?" Christian asks huskily.

"I would have been a week or two after he moved into your flat."

"Did he say anything else?"

"He once told me that whenever you and he were alone together, no matter what you were doing, he felt completely happy and content. I'm not sure if that's still the case ..." He lets the sentence trail away, seeing that Christian has tears in his eyes.

They sit quietly for a little while.

"I thought you would be the perfect person for him to open up to," Tamwar finally suggests. "You're so relaxed and unselfconscious about these things. You have no hang ups about talking about, you know, um ... sex." To prove his point, Tamwar blushes.

"I could have gotten him to talk," Christian agrees. "When we were getting to know each other in secret, we talked about all sorts of things. I know that Sy found it so liberating to be able to fully explore his sexuality ..."

Tamwar clears his throat nervously.

"... He was giddy with the knowledge that absolutely nothing was off limits when we were alone." Christian smiles fondly as he remembers. "I'd forgotten how wonderful it used to be back then."

"Why did ... that have to change once you moved in together?"

"It didn't, change, at first; for maybe the first few weeks, we were inseparable ...," he trails off. "I suppose it didn't have to change. It wasn't a deliberate decision ..."

"Life got in the way, maybe?" Tamwar suggests.

"Maybe," he agrees absently.

"I suppose it's not easy ..."

"Syed needs the games, the thrills; he needs it to be about us," Christian reflects. "It must have felt to him like I'd promised him the moon and the stars and all he got was ..."

"Roxy ..."

"He has talked to you," Christian accuses.

"He didn't have to, I could see for myself."

"You knew he wasn't happy?"

"I think it is safe to say that life with you didn't live up to his expectations. He couldn't say too much. He'd made such a huge sacrifice to be with you, it would have been humiliating for him to have to admit he wasn't happy, that he'd made a mistake."

"I stopped working at our relationship. I knew he loved me, I knew I could enjoy his smiles, his beautiful warm body whenever I wanted ..."

"Hmm, yes, yes," Tamwar quickly says something, anything ...

"It's all my fault ..."

"It takes two to tango, or I suppose ..., you know, not to ..."

"Sy would never be able to take charge like that, there's a shyness there," he smiles fondly, "he needed me to lead the way."

"You liked to lead the way outside the bedroom, as well?" Tamwar suggests.

"Maybe," he pauses.

"I used to think that you knew him better than anyone. I still don't understand how you didn't see that he was unhappy. You were living together."

"I guess that after a while I stopped paying attention to his moods; I guess it suited me to believe everything was fine because, for the first time in my life, I had it all," Christian murmurs thoughtfully.

"Dad and I are firmly rooted in reality; we tend to make rational decisions based on logic, common sense and the facts as we know them," Tamwar admits after a little while.

"Really?" Christian asks, without really knowing why.

"To Mum and Syed, on the other hand, logic and common sense are little more than casual acquaintances who pop by now and then."

"So, basically, what you're saying is that I should never stop paying attention," Christian smiles.

"Something like that."

They sit quietly for a little while until Christian's phone starts to ring. He quickly picks it up. "It's Jane," he says flatly, and they both let out a deflated sigh. "Hi, what's up," he asks. After listening for a bit, he tells her they have nothing to report.

"She hasn't heard anything?" Tamwar asks hopefully.

"No," he says wearily. "She's made lunch for us, so if we could swing by the cafe ..."

"That's nice of her," Tamwar says politely.

"Yes it is." Christian flatly agrees.

#

Masood is in the cafe when they arrive, he looks up expectantly as soon as he sees them.

Tamwar shakes his head, "Nothing."

Jane hands them the food and some drinks.

"Sit with me, eat your lunch. We'll head back out as soon as we're finished," Masood suggests.

They eat quietly, each wrapped up in his own thoughts. Each afraid to say what they are all thinking.

"I've seen happier people at a wake," Shirley remarks as she passes their table. They look at each other, each with similar foreboding thoughts.

**###**

Syed struggles to open his eyes. His head feels, if anything, even more muddled than before. It is now dark and he is not sure how much time has passed since he last had a coherent thought. Attempting to get out of the bed, his legs give way and he ends up on the floor.

"Hey, are you okay?" Nazir asks, appearing at his side. He lifts him up and back onto the bed.

"I want to go home, Christian will wonder where I am," Syed cries in agitation.

"Christian threw you out; he no longer cares where you go."

"What are you talking about? Why would he do that?"

Nazir reaches over to switch off a monitor next to the bed, which Syed had not noticed was there.

"Nazir?" he urges anxiously.

"He knows we had sex," Nazir reminds him, his tone hardening.

"We had sex?" he asks faintly. A snapshot of Nazir holding him down, both of them naked, offers an unwelcome reminder. "We had sex," he confirms, his tone bleak.

"Christian won't come for you, because he knows that it is me you want now," Nazir says huskily. He raises a hand to stroke Syed's cheek. "I'm all you've got now." He leans forward to capture his mouth in a kiss.

"Hmm," Syed moans in protest, struggling to push him away; but his arms feel heavy and uncoordinated and make little impression. "Please, don't," he tearfully pleads, as Nazir's mouth moves to his neck.

Nazir easily pushes him onto his back and climbs on top of him.

Realising that he won't be able to stop him, Syed forces his body to relax, to try to accept what's coming.

Afterwards, Nazir gets up, pulls on his clothes, turns the monitor back on and leaves the room without a word. Syed pulls the quilt over himself and closes his eyes, overcome with despair.

"Drink this," his captor appears at his side after a short while with a glass of orange juice.

Syed slowly, unwillingly, opens his eyes, making sure to keep his gaze lowered to avoid making eye contact. He reaches out a hand and obediently takes the drink.

Nazir watches with no emotion on his face, as Syed passes out once more.

#

The following morning when he arrives with a dish of cereal and a glass of juice, Syed is lying staring at the ceiling. He doesn't move or react.

"Sit up and eat," Nazir orders.

He pushes himself into a sitting position and accepts the food.

Nazir sits on the side of the bed watching him. "Nothing to say for yourself today?" he finally asks.

"No," Syed says quietly, his head bowed.

"Now that I've finally got your complete obedience, it's a shame our time together is almost at an end," he says softly as he watches Syed's eyes slowly close.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_That night_

"Wake up, wake up," a voice urgently hisses in his ear.

Syed struggles to regain consciousness, to force his eyes open. "What?" he mumbles, before realising that is it not Nazir. Terrified, he starts to cry out. A hand closes over his mouth, and he stares up in fear at a man he vaguely remembers seeing before, when he first arrived at the house.

"If you want to escape a fate worse than death, take this now," the voice urgently whispers in an accent similar to his own.

He remains frozen to the spot.

"Now," the voice sharply orders. His tormentor forces a couple of tablets into Syed's mouth, and watches as he automatically swallows them.

The monitor is switched back on, and the man has disappeared out the door in an instant.

Syed lies without moving, fiercely gripping the quilt with both hands, wondering if he has just been poisoned. Time passes; he has no idea how long he has been lying staring into nothingness; his heart is beating so fast he can barely control it. Slowly, his attention is drawn to noises coming from down below. There are loud voices, and he can make out some sort of loud thumping music. He starts to feel sick. "I'm going to die," he whispers miserably into the darkness. He closes his eyes and prays for God's forgiveness for the sins he has committed. His stomach begins to cramp agonisingly. At some point, he becomes aware that the voices are getting louder, and closer. If he were not sure the men were Muslim, he would have assumed they were drunk. The door opens abruptly, and several men burst into the room.

"Hey, pretty boy, you wanna have some fun," one of them slurs in a poor attempt at an American accent.

"Of course he does, they're always up for it," another sneers, reaching to pull the quilt off of him. They begin to tear at his clothes.

"We know what you are; a dirty little _ga*doo_. You sin against God, you have to be punished."

Looking frantically from one to the other, Syed's eyes light on Nazir, standing back, smiling a vicious smile.

"If only your mother could see you now," he says with a feigned wistfulness, his eyes gleaming maliciously.

Syed now finds he is naked apart from his underwear. Deep inside him, a scream desperately tries to escape; a primitive need to scratch, to bite, to fight for survival; but his absolute terror renders him helpless. Not a word can he utter, not a move can he make to defend himself; and his stomach is rapidly becoming a ball of pain.

"Hey, me first." One that had been quieter than the others, suddenly staggers forward. They cheer him on, as he roughly pulls off Syed's pants. "Grab his legs," he orders. Two of the other guys grab his ankles to force his legs apart. "You like to suck on men's dicks, so suck on these." He forces a couple of fingers into Syed's mouth. Everyone is laughing and cheering, and they fail to notice as he forces the fingers down Syed's throat.

Syed becomes violently ill all over him and anyone nearby, and kills the mood stone dead.

"You dirty fucking bitch," his saviour cries in horror, jumping back and looking with disgust at the state of his shirt and trousers. He turns towards the door, and everyone rushes ahead of him to escape, as Syed continues to projectile vomit.

_#_

_The next morning_

"Time to get up," Nazir calls in an upbeat voice as he breezes into the room, "today is the day you finally do something honourable.

Oh, my God, this place stinks," he moans, covering his mouth and rushing to the little window on the far side of the room to let in some fresh air. He cannot help but be overcome with guilt when he turns around and sees the state of his victim.

Syed is sitting on his bed as far into the corner as he can squeeze; knees pulled tight against his chest. He is still naked. His dried vomit is all over his arms and legs, most of the bed and part of the floor around the edge of the bed. He is shaking almost uncontrollably, and his face is a pale, sickly colour and covered in a sheen of perspiration.

"Nazir forces himself to walk over to the bed. Reaching out to touch his forehead, he doesn't need a thermometer to tell him that Syed has a high temperature.

"Syed, can you hear me?" he asks slowly.

"Hmm," is all Syed can manage.

He puts his hand under Syed's chin and raises his head to look into his tortured face. "Even in this state you're still beautiful," he admits with a sigh. "You're everything I despise: a weak, shallow, frivolous creature of no use to anyone; and yet ... I wish I could keep you with me. I wish I could ... care about you." He speaks his private thoughts aloud, aware that the video in the next room has been switched off as it is no longer needed, and that his captive is barely aware of anything. Knowing that this will probably be the last time they are alone, he is overcome with an unexpected sadness. No longer aware of the state of the room or the bed, he sits down next to Syed and gently draws him into his arms.

Syed sits limply, imprisoned, wondering fearfully what Nazir will do next; knowing he won't be able to protect himself. A tear rolls down his cheek.

"Syed, do you want to leave this place and return to your family?" Nazir asks, his tone gentle.

Syed nods, and another tear follows the first.

"You can go home this very morning, but first you have to do me one little favour. Will you do something for me, in return for your freedom?"

Syed nods, his fevered brain frantically latching onto the word 'family'.

"It's nothing very major or complicated," he assures, letting him go. "I need to get a package to this man." Nazir removes a photo from his jacket pocket. "This is my friend Khalid. I have arranged for him to meet with you in Albert Square at 12.00 noon today, a little over three hours from now, in the middle of the little park right at the centre of the square. You know the one?"

He nods.

"Once you've handed over the package, you can go straight home, no one will try to stop you; and you and your family will never lay eyes on me again. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Syed nods.

Nazir reluctantly lets him go. "Before you can do anything, we need to get you looking more presentable." He gets up off the bed and takes Syed's elbow to help him up.

Syed struggles to get his feet under him, but with a bit of effort manages to stand up; and promptly falls in a heap.

"You really are in a bad way, aren't you," he realises, a note of worry in his voice. Settling him back on the bed, he disappears for a minute and returns with a bag. Taking out a needle and syringe he gives Syed an injection into his upper arm. "This will give you a temporary boost," he explains. "You should start to feel the effects soon."

Syed doesn't say a word.

"Okay, let's try this again." Nazir puts an arm under his shoulders and half carries, half drags him in the direction of the bathroom.

"Nazir, Asif's on his way over with some final instructions. He said he'd get here in around five or ten minutes," a voice calls up the stairs, shortly followed by its owner.

"Okay, I'll have to meet with him," Nazir responds. "Can you take Syed and put him in the shower? He's very weak; you'll need to stay with him and help him wash."

"How's he going to be able to walk into a park without drawing unwelcome attention, if he can't even walk to the bathroom?"

"Do you want to do it?" Nazir threatens. "No, I didn't think so," he adds without waiting for a response, "so get him cleaned up and let me worry about getting him pumped up enough to do what is necessary."

Another pair of hands take hold of Syed, and he finds himself being carried into the bathroom and laid down on the floor in the far corner next to the shower.

"Keep still, don't move," his new companion calls urgently over his shoulder, as he quickly turns on the shower and goes to lock the room door.

Syed watches with a mixture of fear and bemusement as he grabs a chair and jams its backrest under the door handle to make it extra secure. He then proceeds to pull up a floorboard and remove a gun. As he checks that it is loaded, he makes a call. "We're in the safe place; we're secure for 2-3 minutes max. I've deactivated the remote control; there are three of them; they have semi-automatics and knives." He listens for a moment, and then says, "Good luck," and hangs up.

He turns towards Syed, who is obediently sitting with his head leaning against the glass of the shower.

Watching him approach, Syed suddenly realises that this was the person who forced him to take the tablets, the same man who wanted to be the first to rape him. "You're going to kill me," he thinks wildly. His eyes widen in fear and he makes a desperate, clumsy attempt to get up and somehow try to escape.

"No, stay down." His new tormentor reaches him in an instant and only has to put the slightest pressure to halt Syed's progress. He kneels down next to him. "We've no time. They'll be up here any minute, as soon as they realise I lied; do you understand?"

Syed nods helplessly. He has no idea if he will live to see another day.

Before another word can be spoken, they hear footsteps rushing up the stairs and someone tries the door handle.

The gunman immediately turns so that he is facing the door, with Syed behind him. He cocks the gun, ready.

"Isa, if you don't open this fucking door, I'll kill you and Syed, slowly, torturously," Nazir roars his warning. "And I can promise you that I won't rest until I find every member of your family ..."

As he spits out his threats, someone is throwing themselves repeatedly against the door, which is beginning to splinter ...

###

_Later that day _

"Oh, where could he be?" Zainab cries, ringing her hands in despair.

No one can answer. No one wants to admit that the odds of Syed still being alive are remote.

"Why did you have to bring _him _here?" she cries.

"I had no idea ...," Masood tries once again to excuse.

"And you, why did you have to fall out with my precious ...?"

_Massive Explo*sion_

_#_

_News bulletin _

"_We have a report_ _coming in of a_ _massive_ _explo*sion_ _in the Walford area of East London. Ambulances and other emergency services are on the scene. Early estimates have the death toll at over 200. The ter*orist group ********* have claimed responsibility for the attack._"


	10. S&C(7) - Chapter10

Chapter 10

"What was that?" Zainab cries.

"It's Kamil. He said he was going to watch the latest Bond film in the kitchen on his iPad, because the signal upstairs is too weak," Afia explains. "Kamil, turn that racket down, we're trying to have a conversation," she loudly calls out to him; adding another jolt to Zainab's already fragile nerves.

"He shouldn't be watching films about violence, he's too young," Masood decides, getting up to go and confiscate the iPad.

"All his friends have seen it ..."

"Will you both shut up," Zainab cries agitatedly. "I'm talking about the expl*osion."

"It's next door, they're knocking the shed at the back," Afia reminds her. "Remember, they put a note through the door."

"That was a massive explo*sion."

"It was a massive shed."

"Maybe, I suppose so. It's just ... it's all just too much, my nerves can't take any more," Zainab cries, running her hand distractedly through her hair. "My only wish is to have my precious boy back.

Why are we just sitting here?" she suddenly demands, directing angry, irritated looks at everyone. "We need to keep searching."

"After what happened in Manchester and Liverpool this morning, I'm thinking we should keep a low profile," Tamwar voices the opinion.

"It's all over the news." Christian remembers seeing some of the coverage.

"Yea, and we all know who'll get the blame," Masood grimly points out.

"If something ... bad had happened to Syed, we would have been notified, wouldn't we?" Afia dares to ask.

"Have you called round the hospitals yet today?" Zainab coldly demands, reminding her of her daily task.

"Yes," she dutifully confirms.

"We stay hopeful until someone ..." Christian begins to insist.

The doorbell chimes, and they are all jolted as one.

Tamwar is the first to react.

"Hello, my name is PC Kieran Conn, and this is my colleague PC Sharon O'Donnell," the uniformed officer greets, "we would like to speak to Mrs Zainab Khan."

"Of course, please come in," Tamwar invites, the words barely audible as he struggles to breathe through the tightness in his chest. He shows them into the sitting room.

"Have you found him, have you found my son?" Zainab cries eagerly.

"Mrs Khan, we regret to inform you ..."

"No," she cries, recoiling in horror; her arms go out, blindly reaching for support.

Christian puts his arms around her and they cling to each other."

"How ... what happened? How did he ... die?" Masood asks, his voice trembling.

"He was killed in a raid on a house in Devas Street."

"A raid?"

"Mrs Khan," the officer addresses Zainab, "your son was involved in a plot to remotely detonate a bo*mb in the middle of Albert Square at lunchtime today. Christmas Eve was deliberately chosen because it marks the beginning of the most important Christian festival, and it is also one of the busiest shopping days of the year." The police officer's tone is under control, but with a strong hint of suppressed anger. "If your son and his ... accomplices had succeeded with their plan, the expl*osion would have destroyed all the houses facing the square; killing every occupant in those houses, on the streets surrounding the square and everyone walking through it. This brutal assault was meant to be part of a wider, coordinated attack on communities in London, Manchester, Liverpool and Newcastle."

Everyone stares at him in stunned silence.

"But, why here? Why would they...?"

"According to our intel, there is a belief that people are getting blazee about attacks happening at a safe distance in some famous city or at a famous landmark. The new modus operandi is to have attacks, preferably coordinated for maximum impact, which could be carried out literally on anyone's doorstep. They want to press home the idea that no matter where you are, you are not safe. They don't like being ignored."

"The terr*orist attacks this morning in ... in Manchester and Liverpool ... that was them?" Masood asks faintly.

"Yes," he confirms. "We have teams in every city, but there are so many sleeper cells. We got lucky here in London and in Newcastle."

Tamwar finally finds his voice. "My brother would never do anything like that," he angrily insists. "He is not a violent person, and could never deliberately hurt anyone. He has never expressed any extremist views; and any time we have ever spoken about ter*orism, he has most particularly expressed his anger at the idea of any attack being carried out in the name of Isl*m."

The PC declines to comment. "We'll need Mrs Khan to come to the Morgue to identify Mr Yusuf's body," he requests, his tone firm.

"He's Mr Masood," Tamwar cries tearfully, "Syed Masood."

"He is known to the authorities as Mr Yusuf, Mr Nazir Yusuf."

"Nazir," they all cry in unison.

"The identification we found on the body also identified him as such."

"Actually, he was a Doctor," PC O'Donnell tentatively interrupts. "Dr Nazir Yusuf. Our investigation found him to be the son of the late Dr Yusuf Khan, whose last known address is here. Mrs Zainab Khan is identified a Dr Yusuf Khan's wife ... widow."

"It's not Syed?" Christian cries shakily.

"What?" Zainab whispers, looking to the police officer with a feverently hopeful gaze.

"We have a photo," PC O'Donnell offers, producing one from a folder.

"No, that's not my son," she cries joyfully, "that man is no relation to me. He is the son of my late husband, from a previous marriage. I've spoken to him once or twice in passing, but I could never warm to him. There was something distrustful ..."

"Did anyone else die in the raid?" Christian reluctantly asks, without really wanting to know the answer. "Do you have any information on this man?" He produces a photo of Syed, his hand shaking as he hands it over.

"No one survived," the police officer informs them, his tone unapologetic. With barely a glance at it, he passes the photo to his colleague. "What they were about to do ..."

"Sir," his colleague interrupts. "The man in this photo is the hostage. He was taken to The Lister Hospital in Chelsea."

"Is he badly hurt? Will he okay?" Tamwar anxiously demands.

"This man was drugged ..."

"His name is Syed, Syed Masood," Christian insists.

"Mr Masood was drugged to a point where he was disoriented and confused about everything," PC Adams reveals. "Mr Yusuf offered him his freedom in exchange for delivering a package to another man who was supposed to be waiting in the park. The plan was to wait until Mr Masood got as close to the centre as possible, and then remotely detonate the bo*b which would be in the package he would assume he was delivering."

"Oh my God," Zainab cries.

We've had this group under surveillance for over a year. Originally, there were only three. Our operative befriended one of the men through his Mos*que and was soon admitted to the house.

Mr Yusuf made an appearance for the first time a little over four months ago, and quickly took control. But it was not until Mr Masood arrived at the house that we knew for sure it was this group that was going to carry out the next attack on London. His arrival forced Mr Yusuf to explain to the other members the reason for his being there. Our informant alerted us to the fact that he was being held against his will, and why. If Mr Yusuf had not involved your son, we would not have been in a position to stop any of the planned attacks. Our net was spread too wide. We were aware of the possibility of a coordinated attack, but there are thousands of people on our list. Confirming the London group allowed us to trace Mr Yusuf's movements and work out who the other teams were going to be. This allowed us to prevent the Newcastle attack, and reduce the impact of those in Liverpool and Manchester to injuries rather than deaths. The common procedure for these groups is that every member of a cell is aware that they might one day be called on, and are in a constant state of readiness. However, only the leader, in this instance Mr Yusuf, gets any advance warning of an imminent operation. The other members usually get given the target address, final instructions and tools for the job no more than a couple of hours in advance."

"Why would they involve Syed?" Masood asks, his voice a mere croak. "Don't you have to be committed to the ... cause?"

"Though not officially tolerated, it has been known to happen that these people will manipulate a vulnerable person, basically trick them into losing his or her life so that they won't have to. Not every terror*st is eager for marty*rdom, despite what they would have you believei."

There is a long moment where no one speaks, as they try to grasp the enormity of the situation.

"Can we see him?" Christian finally asks huskily.

"Of course, if you'd like to come with us," PC Conn gestures towards the door and the police car outside.

Christian travels with the police officers; and Zainab, Masood, Tamwar and Afia follow in Ian's car.

As he enters the sparse hospital room, Christian draws a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever he might discover.

"Sy," he whispers, his heart wrenching to see him looking so pale and fragile.

Syed turns his head to look warily at him for a moment. He then returns his gaze to the comfort of the plain white ceiling. He is wearing a hospital gown and lying on a bed near a large window. He is the only patient in the room.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Christian says huskily, walking over to the bed. Pulling a chair closer, he sits down and takes Syed's hand. "Are you okay?" he asks anxiously, on noticing the drip attached to his arm

"I'm fine," Syed responds politely.

"Syed, my dearest boy," Zainab cries, rushing in and throwing herself on him. "Oh thank God we have you back."

Syed lets her hug him, but doesn't say anything.

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" she asks urgently. Syed, speak to me; tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay," he obediently tells her.

"It's good to see you, son," Masood emotionally greets, giving him a warm hug.

They become aware at once that he is, understandably, not quite as he should be.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Masood asks tentatively.

"I don't know," he says, his voice lacking any emotion.

"How can you not know?" Zainab cries anxiously, but Christian stops her.

"Don't push him; there's no rush. All that matters is that he's safe," he reminds her.

"Hello Mr Masood. How are you feeling this afternoon?" The doctor announces his arrival. He walks over to Syed's bed. Everyone moves back to give him space. He performs a routine examination.

"I'm fine," Syed answers, as the Doctor shines a light in his eyes.

"We've given you medication to help counteract the effects of the drugs," he advises, looking through his patient notes.

Syed nods.

"Is there anything you would like to ask me?"

"No."

The Doctor studies him for a moment. "You're going to be okay, you know. The worst is over."

"Yes," Syed nods.

"Will he be well enough to come home soon?" Christian asks.

Having seemingly forgotten their presence, the Doctor turns with a look of mild surprise at the question.

"I'm Syed's husband, Christian, and these are his parents Zainab and Masood and his brother Tamwar."

"I'm his sister-in-law," Afia adds a little defiantly.

"Hello, Doctor Isaac Mayfield, pleased to meet you all," the Doctor offers, his tone friendly.

"Will he be okay?" Zainab asks anxiously.

"Mr Masood has been given a large quantity of a sedative drug called diphenhydramine over a short period of time. He is severely dehydrated. The saline drip attached to his arm will replace the lost fluids. His liver and kidney function are normal; there should be no lasting damage. Physically, he should make a full recovery."

"He seems to be ... wary, on edge."

"According to our mental health expert, who has had a chat with Mr Masood, his mood is generally by turns anxious and withdrawn, which is perfectly understandable given his recent traumatic experience. You will need to be patient and provide a calm environment to aid his recovery. We will provide counselling sessions when Mr Masood is feeling strong enough to cope. Now, if you'll excuse me," he turns to Syed. "If there's anything you need, be sure to call one of the nurses, there is no need to suffer in silence," he gently scolds, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Syed nods, looking anything but reassured.

They watch with uncharacteristic silence as Dr Mayfield walks away, and then turn as one to look at him.

Syed closes his eyes. "If I lie very still, maybe they'll go away," he thinks desperately.

"Syed, do you need anything; food, clothes?" Tamwar attempts.

"How long will it take Nazir to discover I'm here?" Syed wonders. "Will he send someone to kill me or will he do it himself?"

"You're not ready to talk, that's okay," Masood says, his voice choked with tears. "It's enough for now just to have you back."

In the face of his continuing silence, and not knowing what else to do, his family get chairs and sit around the bed. At first, no one says anything, and then they get comfortable. Realising that the nightmare of the past few days is over, the tension slips away and they start chatting. They try to include Syed, but he will not be drawn. After a bit, someone (probably Afia) is sent to get coffees.

Syed listens to them talk, without really taking any of it in. He begins to relax despite his best efforts to stay alert.

After a couple of hours, Tamwar remembers the restaurant, Masood remembers his taxi shift and the nurse arrives to remind them that visiting hours are coming to an end.

They start to get up to leave, and Syed starts to panic. As Christian let's go of his hand, he grips Christian's tightly; and, using his other hand, starts to push himself up into a sitting position.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Christian cries in surprise. "It's okay, we'll be back in the morning, I promise," he urgently soothes, cupping Syed's cheek and wiping away his tears. He presses a gentle kiss against his other cheek.

"It'll be too late; I'll be dead by then," Syed urgently communicates his fears.

They stare at him in stunned silence for a split second.

"No, of course you won't, you're safe here," Zainab tried to reassure.

"Those men, the men who were keeping you prisoner, they're dead, they've been killed," Masood quickly adds, anxious to put his mind at rest.

"They'll find me, he said they would find me and kill me," Syed cries hoarsely, his grip like a vice. "His breathing becomes more laboured as his fear increases. He reaches out with his free hand to grip Tamwar's jacket. The drip begins to detach from his arm. Please don't leave me here all alone," he cries.

"Oh, my poor Syed," Zainab moans, rushing to his side.

"I'll stay with him," Christian decides.

"I'll bring you breakfast and a change of clothes in the morning," Masood agrees, his voice trembling with emotion, after witnessing the terror in his son's eyes. "I'll take the morning off work."

"I'll come for the afternoon," Tamwar quickly adds.

Afia has discreetly called for the nurse, who arrives at that moment.

"What have we here?" she asks mock sternly as she gently pries Syed's hands loose.

"They're leaving," he tells her tearfully.

"It's okay love," she gently assures, handing him a tissue. "They'll all be back tomorrow, won't you?" she throws a look over her shoulder.

"They all obediently agree that they will.

"And I'll be just down the hall for the whole night, so you won't be alone. You can call me any time, even if it's only for a chat." She reminds him of the buzzer next to his bed. "You know you're my favourite patient, right?"

Syed reluctantly gives her the smile she'd been angling for m.

"Good," she says, satisfied. Settling him back in bed, she reattaches the drip and adds fresh tape to hold it in place. "Now, get some sleep," she orders, brushing his hair back from his eyes with the gentlest of touches.

"You've definitely made a good impression there," Masood gently teases after the door closes behind the nurse.

"We'll look after you, we'll protect you," Zainab weakly insists.

#

After the others depart, Christian and Zainab sit, one on each side of Syed's bed. Once they are sure he is asleep, Christian persuades Zainab to go home to get some sleep for a few hours.

After she leaves, he does something he hasn't done for a long time, he watches Syed sleep. Apart from the dark shadows under his eyes, his face offers little clue to his recent suffering. "How did we get here?" Christian wonders sadly.

"Syed lies very still, waiting ...


	11. S&D(7)-Chapter11

Chapter 11

When Dr Mayfield arrives to check on him early the next morning, Syed is lying staring at the ceiling. Christian has fallen asleep with his head resting on his hands on the side of the bed.

"You haven't slept," he greets, noting the dark circles under his patient's eyes. "When did you last sleep?"

"I'm fine," Syed says quietly.

"I'll get the nurse to give you something to help you relax," he decides. "No one is going to hurt you," he tries to assure, when he sees the fear in Syed's eyes. "It's over, all of it."

Syed nods politely.

Dr Mayfield summons a nurse.

Syed watches as she approaches with the needle. He does nothing to stop her. His tears overflow as he accepts that he has no control over anything anymore.

"You're going to be okay," the nurse gently assures, sharing a sympathetic look with the Doctor.

Syed is asleep by the time Masood arrives.

Over the next few days, everyone takes turns sitting with him, so that Syed is never left alone. He doesn't speak, unless asked a direct question, and then only with a "yes", "no" or "fine". His physical health has improved to a point where he can come off the drip and eat more or less normally. A mental health worker has been to see him a couple of times, with little success due to his being so guarded in his responses. She has agreed with the Doctor and his family that it is too early to try to draw him out.

After four days, he is discharged and ready to go home. As he has done the whole time, he obediently does as he is told, despite his fear of leaving the safety of his hospital room.

Christian wants to bring him back to the flat, but Zainab persuades him that Syed would be better off surrounded by his family. Christian wants to insist that he's just as much Syed's family as they are, but is no longer sure if that is true.

_The first morning at home _

"Tamwar, Afia, why are you still not downstairs?" Zainab shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

Syed jerks awake, terrified.

#

"Morning all," Tamwar says cheerfully, walking into the kitchen a little less than fifteen minutes later.

"It still is, just about," his mother growls.

"Have you heard your brother moving about?" Masood asks.

"No, not a peep. Should I pop up and check ...?"

"No, I'll go," Zainab cuts across him. "I've made him breakfast." She produces a tray laden down with cereal, juice, a mug of tea, toast, butter, jam, honey, a bowl overflowing with different types of fruit ...

"You made Halwa poori," Tamwar notices, surprised. "I can't remember the last time we had it."

"You're not having it now, I made it for Syed. Do you think this will be enough? He probably hasn't eaten properly in days," Zainab frets.

"Even if it isn't, you won't be able to fit anything else on that tray," Masood points out. He and Tamwar share a smile as they watch her heading for the stairs.

"Afia, you're late," she snaps, as she impatiently waits for her to walk down the last few steps and get out of the way.

"I didn't sleep very well," Afia quietly responds.

Zainab opens her mouth to offer some biting criticism, but changes her mind when she sees the misery in her daughter-in-law's eyes. "Get some breakfast, you'll feel better once you've eaten," she gruffly advises.

"I will," Afia says with a hesitant smile. She gets none in return.

"Syed, sweetheart, are you awake?" Zainab gently calls, tapping a couple of times on his bedroom door. "Syed," she repeats, slowly turning the door handle and stepping inside.

Her son is sitting crouched in the corner of his bed, where the two walls meet, his knees up against his chest and his hands gripping tightly around them. It takes her a moment to realise that he is praying, begging God to forgive him for his sins, repeating the words over and over. "Syed ...," she begins anxiously. "Papoo, are you okay?" she whispers, moving closer to him.

Finally becoming aware of her presence, Syed looks up, his eyes wary, expectant.

"I brought you some breakfast." She presents the tray.

Syed looks at it with more than a hint of suspicion and dread.

"There's too much there for one person," Masood judges, appearing by her side. "Can I have some?" He sits a little further along the bed from Syed, pulling himself along until his back is against the wall. Reaching over, he takes a piece of fruit off the tray and begins to eat.

"Are we having a party?" Tamwar arrives and finds a comfy spot by the window. He breaks off a piece of the Poori, dips it into the sweet semolina halwa and reaches for the glass of juice. "You don't mind if I have a sip?" he asks, giving his brother a warm smile.

Taking their lead, Zainab takes a piece of fruit and sits down on the side of the bed.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks.

"Yes," Syed responds. He releases his tight grip, and reaches for the juice.

They tell him about their plans for the day. Masood assures that he will be back after he finishes his postal delivery at around 11.00, Tamwar decides that he will be home for a late lunch at 2.00 (after he has served lunch to everyone else at the restaurant), and Zainab will close her stall at 4.00 and be home shortly after.

As he listens, Syed picks up a piece of toast and puts some butter on it.

He starts to feel anxious when they get up to leave, but before he can think too much about it, his mother asks if he will put on a wash whilst she is away, his father remembers he needs a couple of shirts ironed and his brother tells him what he would like him to cook for his lunch.

#

After everyone has departed, Syed slowly edges his way down the stairs, listening for every sound in case it is the wrong one. By the time he reaches the kitchen, a sheen of perspiration is covering his forehead. He looks around the familiar room, reminding himself that this is home. He wants to run back upstairs but stops himself. Instead, he checks the sitting room and the cupboard under the stairs to make sure he is definitely alone, before locking the back and front doors and all the windows; and, finally, he takes out the washing basket.

Masood comes back at 11.00, as promised. They sit down for a cup of tea, and a chat consisting of Masood talking and Syed nodding now and then.

Lunchtime with Tam is a similar affair.

In fact, all is going unusually well until there is a knock at the front door mid-afternoon. Syed stops moving, keeping as still as he can, hoping the person will give up and go away.

"Sy, it's me," his husband calls through the letterbox, "Christian," he adds as an insecure afterthought. "Please open the door."

Syed looks frantically around him for a means of escape. The back door seems the obvious choice, but he doesn't want to go outside. "There could be others," he thinks anxiously,

"Sy, please, I need to see you, to talk to you," Christian pleads.

Syed holds his breath and waits.

#

"Syed, I'm home," Zainab calls, walking in the door a little over an hour later. She gets no response. The smell of burning has her rushing into the kitchen. With a sigh, she unplugs the iron, and lifts Masood's shirt to examine the iron-shaped hole.

She finds her son back in his room, back in the corner. "What happened?" She gently probes, sitting down next to him.

When Masood and Tamwar return, they are both in the corner; Syed has his arms around his mother's waist and his head resting on her shoulder.

"Is everything okay?" Tamwar asks.

"Someone, a man, came to the house; knocked repeatedly; called out to him, and he is convinced it was those people."

"About an hour ago?"

"Maybe."

"It was Christian. He came to the restaurant to ask how Syed was. I suggested he pop round to see for himself."

"Are we eating dinner in here?" Masood asks from the doorway.

"Syed, did you not recognise Christian's voice?" Tamwar asks.

"Papoo," Zainab gently prompts. "Why would you be afraid of Christian?"

"I don't know," he admits, confused. He lifts a hand to rub his forehead in an anxious gesture.

"Christian loves you," Masood reminds him.

"He doesn't want," Syed says huskily.

"Of course he does. He spent days and nights searching for you, we all did. We were so worried."

"Nazir told me that Christian doesn't want me anymore," Syed says miserably.

"Everything He said was a lie," Zainab cries in a burst of anger.

"Christian sat by your bedside for hours; why would he do that if he didn't want you?" Tamwar reminds him.

"I can't see him, I can't be alone with him," the anxious words burst from Syed. He presses his face into the crook of his mother's neck and tightens his grip.

His family share uneasy looks.

"Did you do the laundry?" Zainab remembers to ask.

"Tamwar, what a pleasant surprise," Christian greets, gesturing for him to proceed into the sitting room. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," he assures.

"Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, juice?"

"Well, let's see. My wife tried to kill my mother; my brother suffered through something so horrible, it left him a nervous wreck; so, do you have any whiskey?" He says it with a wry smile, but Christian can hear the misery in his voice.

"How about hot chocolate with extra cream?"

"That'll do."

"Despite recent evidence to the contrary, we both know that Afia is not a bad person," Christian assures, as he adds generous spoonfuls of chocolate and sugar to the largest mug he can find in the cupboard (a best boyfriend mug Syed once bought him in Duty Free when they were on their way back from a romantic weekend in Paris). He adds some hot milk and stirs; before topping it off with enough cream to make it necessary for Tamwar to quickly skim some off with a spoon to stop it overflowing.

"Thanks," he laughs.

Christian sits next to him. "If you think about it, haven't we all thought about strangling your mother at one time or another," he gently teases.

Tamwar smiles.

"Have you spoken to her about everything, just the two of you?"

"I'm afraid to," he admits.

"Can you forgive her?"

"I can understand why she did it. I don't know what I would do if I were in her position, knowing what she knew. Watching mum getting on with her life ..."

"You haven't answered my question," Christian gently probes.

"I love her," Tamwar admits, "but the suffering she caused Syed; and mum, what might have happened. She put our whole family at risk. I don't know if I will ever be able to trust her again." He bows his head dejectedly.

"How is Syed?"

"He seems to be improving a little more with each passing day; and then, a loud noise or a sudden movement, and he's running scared."

"I'd love to see him," Christian says huskily.

"He's afraid of you," Tamwar says quietly.

"What?"

"That's why he wouldn't open the door to you."

"But he was okay at the hospital, he wouldn't let go of my hand."

"He seems confused. One minute he's upset at the thought of you not wanting him, the next he's afraid of being alone with you."

"He said that?" Christian cries dismayed.

"Yes. I'm sorry, but I thought you deserved to know."

"Of course," he offers vaguely, his thoughts in a whirl. "What exactly did that fucker do to him?" he cries in frustration.

"We'll have to be patient, as the doctor said, we can't give up on him," Tamwar insists, giving him an anxious look.

"I couldn't give up on him even if I wanted to," Christian assures with a smile. "We're a forever kind of couple."

"I'm glad to hear it," Tamwar says with a relieved smile.

Syed has been at home for over a week, and it is starting to feel a little like home. He struggles to sleep at night; the slightest noise has him awake, listening for approaching footsteps.

The first few times he cried out in his sleep, everyone came running. Now, they take turns (apart from Afia, who is not allowed near him).

As the days pass, his nightmares become fewer; but most mornings, his mother will find him in his safe corner. A hospital Psychologist has come to see him a couple of times, with the same outcome: he will talk about anything apart from what happened when he was with Nazim.

On various pretexts, he has had to, very reluctantly, make trips outside the house; to the restaurant to drop off Tamwar's wallet, which he forgot to bring with him (twice); to the stall to bring her coat to Zainab; and there was, of course, the day Masood somehow managed to forget his mailbag. Each trip is an ordeal, and he is glad to get back home again.

"Look who I found wandering the streets," Tamwar announces one evening as he walks in the door.

"Christian hi, it's good to see you, come and sit, you're just in time, we were just about to eat," Zainab greets in the breeziest and cheeriest of tones.

Christian and Tamwar join her, Masood and Syed at the table, which, as luck would have it, already has a couple of extra place settings.

Syed sits very still, his eyes on his plate. "If he speaks to me, if he tries to touch me ...," he thinks fretfully.

However, Christian doesn't look anywhere near him. He and Zainab soon get into a heated debate on Coronation Street versus Emmerdale, which draws everyone in. Syed resumes eating after a little while. He is soon distracted by the conversation, and can't help a smile when Christian decides the argument by pointing out that he would rather hook up with Aaron or Robert in Emmerdale than Sean or Father Billy in Corrie.

After dinner, they have coffee and settle back for a little more of a catch-up. It is all very lighthearted.

Eventually, Syed starts to feel tired and quietly excuses himself.

"Sy," Christian calls after him as he begins to climb the stairs.

He stops and quickly turns to face him.

"I just wanted to say goodnight," he hastily explains when he sees the apprehension in Syed's eyes. Instinctively, he reaches out a hand to him.

"Please, don't, don't come any closer," he cries, backing away. He turns and rushes up the stairs to the safety of his room.

"Christian, leave it for now, it's been a good night, we can talk some more tomorrow," Masood calls after him, as he climbs the stairs.

By the time the others arrive, Christian is standing in the middle of his bedroom staring in shock at Syed, who has assumed his now-customary safety position.

"What is he saying?" he asks shakily.

"He's praying, asking God to forgive his sins," Zainab explains. "It's what he does when he's scared."

"I would never hurt him, he must know that," Christian whispers.

"I don't think it's you, rather something you represent," Tamwar guesses.

"Sy, can you hear me?" he pleads, moving closer, sitting down on the bed near him.

Syed pulls his knees even closer to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"I love you," Christian cries brokenly. He puts a hand under Syed's chin and forces him to look up. What is it?" he softly coaxes, "What's wrong?"

Syed looks back helplessly, unable to speak.

Can I come to see you tomorrow?"

He nods.

"Are you nodding because you want me to come tomorrow, or to get rid of me now?"

"Yes," Syed meekly agrees, hoping it will make him go away.

"I can't say I'm overwhelmed by your enthusiasm, but I'll take anything, right now," Christian admits with a sad smile.


End file.
